
L*MU V»'♦ * * « ft » A W ( ♦ ' a>iX £ > 
..v. ■ ••.-*■■ 

... 



BARRETT. 






















































. 



GqpgM?- OrJL 


COPXR5GHT DEPOSm 











- 









• 
























4 . 







' 





































< • 


















: ' ' *■ - , 


V- 

"t 










V ' 



































r - 















GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 




Books by Katharine Ellis Barrett 

* * # 


WIDE AWAKE GIRLS AT COLLEGE 
WIDE AWARE GIRLS IN WINSTED 
GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 




‘ 

* 

? V ' ' . . 









































»■ 








































• • 














- 






V 








:* . v 


■ 

* ~ 
**■ 




























* r 

































. 
































* 


























■ 






So you have come! And at a heavenly hour! 





GIRLS IN THE 
HIGH SIERRAS 

A TALE OF THE SIERRA NEVADA 



GARDEN CITY NEW YORK 

DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY 

1924 













s. 




*' Jl 



COPYRIGHT, 1924, BY 
DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY 

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES 
AT 

THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS, GARDEN CITY, N. Y. 

First Edition 



C1A814G83 



FRED and MABEL LEONARD 


WHO IN TOWN REMEMBER HILLS 
WHOSE HEARTH HAS A CAMP-FIRE’s SPIRIT 
WHOSE HOSPITALITY AND KINDNESS ARE THOSE 
OF MOUNTAIN-DWELLERS 
THIS LITTLE TALE IS, IN THE NAME OF THE REAL 
THREE-CORNER ROUND, 

MOST GRATEFULLY INSCRIBED 




























AUTHORS QUOTED 


I have quoted on pages i, 2, and 38 from Tagore; on 
34 from Rossetti and Mackaye; on 36 from Noyes; on 
59 from Stevenson, on 74 from Lanier; on 81 from 
Emerson; on 83 and 231 from Kipling; on 108 from 
Dickinson; on 139 from Moody; on 168 from Stephens; 
on 176 and 198 from Shakespeare; on 178 from Thom¬ 
son; on 66 and 177 and 178 from Arnold; on 231 from 
Baker; on 231 from Chaucer; on 238 from Davis; on 243 
from Milton; 247 from iEschylus on 248 from Carmen 
Sylva’s translation of Roumanian folk song; as well as 
from old runes and ballads on many pages, and St. 
Francis throughout, as key note. 

The scientific statements have been culled, by a 
most unscientific reader, from the pages of men of 
high renown. Chapter and verse could be given for 
each. They have been chosen for their imagination- 
compelling quality. I have faithfully endeavored to 
avoid wresting anything from its meaning, in taking 
it from its context, or in rendering it into language in¬ 
telligible to girls. 

The pictures for this tale have been made by Mr. 
Miles according to cablegrams sent from Central Asia 
to the Western United States and then to Paris. 

vii 


viii AUTHORS QUOTED 

Now, the author never having seen the pictures nor 
the artist the story, there may be discrepancies, but as 
Mr. Miles knows Sierras, burros, and girls quite as well 
as the author does, if text and pictures do not agree, 
the reader may believe whichever she likes. 

K. R. E. B. 

Tsam Skang, Ladak, High Himalayas, 

Year of the Wood Mouse. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

Preliminaries .. xi 

The Camp Prayer .xiii 

CHAPTER 

I. The People . i 

II. The Donkeys. 6 

III. A Night March. 13 

IV. The Lookout. 17 

V. Camp Work and Food. 27 

VI. Tradition.40 

VII. A Quarrel. 47 

VIII. “The Big Red Ruby”.50 

IX. Yeast: An Interlude ....... 68 

X. High Camp.72 

XI. Midsummer Mail.82 

XII. To the White Polemonium.98 

XIII. The Crest and a Story. in 

XIV. Ordeals and Poetry .131 

ix 

















X 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

XV. Our Sister Water .143 

XVI. On Traveled Trails.152 

XVII. Andante Sostenuto .165 

XVIII. Pot-Luck Pass.180 

XIX. Old Boys.193 

XX. Camp-Fire and Starlight.200 

XXI. Climbing North Palisade .... 221 

XXII. En Ay ant .234 

XXIII. The Last Echo .243 

Appendices: 

A. Chieftaine Ruth’s “ Brain ”.251 

B. The Three-Corner Round Cook-Book . . . 283 

C. Our Brother the Ass.299 










PRELIMINARIES 


Place of the Narrative: 

The Sierra Nevada Mountains, in California, from 
the west slope near Tollhouse, up and across the 
Range, to Mt. Humphreys, and south to Taboose 
Pass. 

Time of the Narrative: 

A time that never was, but sometime might be. 

Characters of the Narrative: (in the order of their 
indispensability) 

Forty Odd Donkeys 
Blackfoot Joe 
Chieftaine Ruth 

The Girls: Emily, Phebe, Perdita 
Santa Clara 
Manuel and Jose 

The Three-Corner Round Old Boys 

Costumes: 

Male: Nondescript. 

Female: In camp: short buckskin dresses, bead 
head-bands, necklaces of wampum, moc¬ 
casins. 

On the march: golden-green wool middies 
and knickers, with big gold Q7 on sleeve 

xi 


PRELIMINARIES 


xii 

and breast; tarns with gold Q7 brooch 
at side; low, straight-last, low-heeled 
shoes, and long brown stockings; big 
capes. (Santa Clara wears blue-gray 
tweed). 

Scenery: 

Forests that meet the sky; broad meadows over 
which long shadows creep; lakes of jade and emerald; 
cliffs and peaks, tawny, purple, ashen-pale; passes 
where blow “winds austere and pure”; dawns of 
“incredible clarity,” hot, blazing noons; “wonderful, 
clear nights of stars.” 

License: 

As a painter takes color-notes in the field, and 
comes home to his studio to paint a scene, not pre¬ 
cisely as he saw it, but as he dreams of it afterwards, 
so these pages, written in the Himalayas, from men¬ 
tal notes taken in four Sierran years, may contain 
inaccuracies of spot or season, but are, I do aver, 
true in their essence. 

Great, beautiful phrases which now belong to the 
world, have been strewn throughout, that whoever 
reads may find something precious. 


LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 

“So you have come! And at a heavenly hour!” 

(See Chapter I) Frontispiece 

FACING PAGE 

The Donkeys. 8 

They Sang as They Kneaded.32 

Marching Day.40 

A View from the Heights.160 

“Suffering Kittens! The Sleeping Beauty in 
Triplicate”.193 





% 


THE CAMP PRAYER 


THE CANTICLE OF THE SUN 

Oh most high, almighty, good Lord God, to thee belong praise , g/ory, 
honour, all blessing. 

Praised be my Lord God with all his creatures, especially our 

brother the sun, wAo brings us the day and who brings us the light; fair 
is he and shines with a very great splendour: 0 Lord, he signifies to 
us thee. 


Praised be. my Lord for our sister the moon , and for the stars, the 
which he has set clear and lovely in heaven. 

Praised be my Lord for our brother the windy and for air and cloud, 
calms and all weather by the which thou upholdest life in all creatures. 

Praised be my Lord for our sister water, who is very serviceable unto 
us, and humble, and precious, and clean. 

Praised be my Lord for our brother fire, through whom thou givest 
us light in the darkness; and he is bright and pleasant and very mighty 
and strong. 

Praised be my Lord for our mother the earth, the which doth sustain 
us and keep us, and bringeth forth divers fruits, and flowers of many 
colors, and grass. 

Praised be my Lord for all those who pardon one another for his love y s 
sake, and who endure weakness and tribulation; blessed are they who 
peaceably shall endure, for thou, 0 most Highest, shalt give them a 
crown. 


Praised be my Lord for our sister, the death of the body, from which 
no man escapeth. Woe to him who dieth in mortal sin; Blessed are 
they who are found walking by thy most holy will. . . . 


Praise ye and bless the Lord, and give thanks unto him and serve him 
with great humility. 

— St. Francis of Assisi 


(Translated by Matthew Arnold) 


a 


. 



* 



















t 


GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 

















































H 9 


































\ 

\ 











- 




































* 














f - 








.. 

















* 

/ 










































































GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


CHAPTER I 

THE PEOPLE 

H ER tepee flung wide to the east, where the twilight 
arch rose slowly on the sky above the near-by 
peaks, Chieftaine Ruth sat alone by a small camp-fire. 

She was a thrilling person to look at, Clara Lyndsay 
thought, approaching the tepee across the little grassy 
flat, flower-decked. The dark eyes were fixed upon the 
rising rosy “wreath of beauty.” The short, dark hair 
swung forward on the cheeks in a bold curve. As her 
guests’ approach broke the spell of her absorbed at¬ 
tention, she sprang to her feet with a swift gesture of 
welcome and interest, looking, in her short buckskin 
dress, like a true descendant of an Indian royal line. 

“So you have come! And at a heavenly hour! 
‘There cometh Evening, o’er lonely meadows, deserted 
of the herds, by trackless ways’—But you are tired 
and hungry. Perdita, the other girls are up the hill 
there. They came yesterday. Run off and find them. 
Sit down here by the fire, Miss Lyndsay. You shall 
have tea at once.” 


2 


GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


“Fm not tired at all, really. It is restful just to be 
here. And Fm not needing tea nearly so much as 
poetry just now. That was Tagore?” 

“Oh, yes, the twilight arch always makes me think 
of him. He surely meant it: ‘Morning cometh there, 
bearing in her golden basket the wreath of beauty, 
silently to crown the earth . 9 I never get over the utter 
thrill of watching that rosy edge of the Earth’s shadow, 
when we slip into it at night, or out of it at dawn. I 
shall show you some wondrous camps, where you can 
see it at both times and the shadows of the peaks them¬ 
selves stretching out upon space.” 

Clara dropped to the ground beside the tepee door. 
In silence the two women watched the fading of the 
rosy flush and the first shining of the stars. Clara drew 
her rough blue tweed cape about her shoulders, and as 
if in answer to the gesture, a dark hand laid small 
sticks upon the smouldering coals, and Blackfoot Joe 
said softly: “De little ladies is cornin’ down, mum. 
Supper’ll be ready in a minute.” 

Ruth’s hostess spirit woke to life, and as the three 
girls drew near, she spread scarlet and white Navajo 
rugs for them, out of the wind, and near the fire, and 
laid out a coarse crash table-cloth, and dishes so 
quaint that the new arrivals exclaimed in delight. 

“Camping de luxe, you are quite right. But if 
camping is one’s life, and if one has a godmother in 
the Himalayas, one can’t help being luxurious. Yes, 
each of you has her own little bowl made of a wooden 


THE PEOPLE 


3 


knot and lined with beaten silver. You’ll find your 
initials on them: P. O.: Perdita Osgood; E: Emily; 
P. W.: Phebe Webster. Miss Lyndsay’s and mine 
are more distinctive, so there’s no danger of mistaking 
them. And the plates are silver, too, on copper. 
See that beautiful great mixing-bowl Joe is making 
your chipattis in? He doesn’t like it quite so well as 
the old miner’s gold-pan he used to use—still uses, now 
and then. There! The tea is ready, Miss Lyndsay. 
American tea this time, in this huge, this stately Ladaki 
tea-pot—intended for folk who drink twenty cups a day. 
Some day we shall make their kind of tea in a 
wooden churn, with butter and salt and no sugar. 
Manuel, serve the frijoles while the chipattis are 
baking. Joe had these all done in the Dutch oven 
before he went to meet you. I have persuaded him to 
boil them in the steam-pressure to save himself hours 
of fire-tending, but into the Dutch they go for baking 
and browning. Jose, get the fruit out of the fireless 
cooker. This is Joe’s specialty, too, apples with a few 
raisins and a few prunes, and oodles of cinnamon. 
Emily, it falls to you to serve the butter—a good pat 
of it on each hot chipatti. Aren’t these little broad- 
bladed army knives just the thing for spreading butter? 
I am starving. These June days are so long, and it is 
an absolute crime to eat at sunset.” 

When the supper had been served, the two Indian 
boys, under Joe’s quiet orders, got the men’s camp¬ 
fire and evening meal going, and placed the girls’ 


4 


GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


sleeping-bags in cozy flat spots, far enough away from 
digger pines so that huge falling cones might not brain 
thesleepersinthenight. When thelastspicydropofapple 
juice was gone, three sleepy, sleepy maidens slipped out 
of their clothes in the tepee, drew on warm blanket 
pajamas, gratefully, shoe-horned themselves, under 
Ruth’s direction, into their tarpaulin and blanket 
bags, out under the stars, and were asleep almost be¬ 
fore Ruth had rejoined Miss Lyndsay by the lire. 

"Perdita’s real name appears to be Coppertop,” 
said Ruth. “ She’s attractive and full of vigor. I’m 
not surprised that you chose her to kidnap, if it was 
youth you were seeking. What a lark that was! Your 
Dr. Helen must be a person of real inspiration, to give 
prescriptions like that. And I am so glad you had 
heard of the Three-Corner Round! Emily and Phebe 
I have known for two years. They live in Southern 
California, but the mountains, from the Three-Corner 
Round point of view, are quite unknown to them. I 
do so hope it will be a wonderful summer, Miss Lynd¬ 
say!” 

Ruth clasped her hands about her knees and looked 
up into the older woman’s face with such intensity 
that Clara laughed. 

"It’s sure to be, Chieftaine. But you must not call 
me ‘Miss Lyndsay’ if I am to forget that imminent 
Forty that I am fleeing from. The girls have two 
names for me already, I notice. Perdita always calls 
me ‘Tante Clara,’ though I’m aunt only by affection. 


THE PEOPLE 


5 

And the little Californians, hearing it, have made it 
‘Santa Clara!”’ 

“Perfect!” breathed Ruth, her eyes resting on the 
golden halo the firelight made about the other’s head. 
“Why, St. Francis of Assisi is our camp-fire saint. 
There couldn’t be a better omen than to find his friend 
in our midst. What a night!” She turned to the 
starry skies. “I can’t bear to turn in, but to-morrow 
there will be no end to do. There always is just before 
we start, no matter how long ahead I come to Base 
Camp. I shall keep you all busy. You look to me 
like a person who could be trusted to tie a paraffined 
cloth food-bag really tight, for example. Usually I 
have to do all that kind of thing at first, myself, till 
the girls quiet down, and develop responsibility- 
senses. I hope you won’t shed yours in the elixir of 
youth till they have attained unto theirs!” 


CHAPTER II 


THE DONKEYS 

O H THE darling little colties! They’re like fawns!” 
“Let me help feed them, Joe?” 

“They’re all exactly alike! How can you ever tell 
one from another?” 

“This fellow’s mine. Does he buck? Ow! It’s no 
fair—kicking after!” 

Forty-six little asses, gray, brown, black, white, red^ 
and spotted, driven into camp from a night in the 
corral, scampering in, bells ringing, heads tossing, heels 
flying, the three colts frisking like kittens! Joe and his 
two boys rounding them up, sorting them out, hobbling 
each by one frisky forefoot to the long picket lines laid 
out in a square near the tepee. 

But in the midst of the hubbub Joe did not forget 
his manners, and answered all the questions. “Sure 
thing, Miss Phebe. You can help Jose fill de nose¬ 
bags. One cup barley for each, and half a cup for dem 
little colties. No, Miss Emily, no two’s alike. You’ll 
soon learn better. Look out, Coppertop! Red’s a 
real bucker. Stop her, mum. Dat’s twice she’s got 
kicked dis mornin’.” 

“Pshaw, Joe. I don’t care. I’m going to. ride 
every donkey in the whole darned outfit before I 
6 


THE DONKEYS 


7 

finish. I like Red awfully well. His tail’s so twitchy. 
Oh! Hear them!” 

Hear them, indeed! And see them! At the sight 
of the first full nose-bag approaching, forty-six pairs of 
ears laid back, forty-six pairs of nostrils distended, 
forty-six mouths wide open, forty-six fearful brays in 
chorus, high brays, deep brays, brays of the middle 
register. The Indian boys flew down the lines, tying 
bell-clappers, and popping nose-bags on as extinguishers. 
Gradually peace developed, and when Santa Clara ar¬ 
rived from a stroll on the hillside, she found a most 
orderly array of little beasts, quietly munching. 

“What proper little creatures! Introduce me to 
them, Ruth, before I settle down to your food-bags 
again. I’ll jot their names down in my note-book. 
Each one has a number on this little brass tag? What 
system! Riding-beasts in this line, I suppose. Coupe 
Oreille for me? He’s very vast.” 

“He’s very famous. There’s a French nursery 
rhyme about him, sung up and down Owens Valley by 
the sheep men: 

‘Coup Oreille, 

Oreille-Coupee 
Houp-la, mon ane, 

Allez, allez!’ 

He’s as safe as Gibraltar, and so slow that when you go 
down steep places on his back, you feel as a drop of 
molasses must when it is about to leave the tip of the 
spoon. In bad places he rehearses each step, putting 


/ 


8 


GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


each foot tentatively forward, selecting a place for it, 
and then withdrawing it. When all four have been 
planned out, he takes the step properly. And besides 
that peculiarity, he declines to travel anywhere except 
in the rear. The old prospector, Scotty, who owned 
him before, used to get comfortably drunk when he 
came to town, and then ride back to his hill camp, 
leaving Coupe to drive the other donkeys safely in. 
Nothing can persuade him to pass another donkey. 
They simply must move on when he comes up.” 

“Funny old Coupe! I think I shall like him, but I 
also think I shall occasionally walk. What a very 
pretty little chap this one is, with his head coquettishly 
on one side when we talk of him!” 

“Chicken Little, Emily’s mount. The original 
Chicken was carried home by one of the boys of the old 
Three-Corner Round, but since then we have given the 
name to any little ass worthy of it. You’ll have to be 
careful, in mounting, Emily, with those long legs of 
yours. You could easily step all the way over him. 
I hope you’ll like Frere Jacques, Phebe. He was a very 
high-priced burro. A perfect hold-up. There’s a 
French song about him, too.” 

“I know it,” sang Phebe, throwing her arms about 
Frere Jacques’ fat neck: 

“Frere Jacques, 

Frere Jacques, 

Dormez-vous, 

Dormez-vous. 



. v - ; . 5< , " &' £' ' ■ ?«?- 

: ■ ■ 

vtf i ..-<*» '. mW '' 'v ; 

X- ... .-■ .. ' .' .■ ; <X" ; '. ’ ■ 


'O '- \'T 






V-' *! 


-, •■ •■ • 

& Wm 

: V * .>8 ^ >• ■ ■* 

H C 


Bkii 



The Donkeys 








































































/ 


































■ ' 




• 1 ‘ . :• 

. 



. 



























































































THE DONKEYS 


9 


Sonnez la mattina, 

Sonnez la mattina. 

Din, don, don!’ 

He could ‘sonnez la mattina’—what a whopping big bell 
he has!” 

“It’s a Basque sheep-bell. You know where the 
Basque folk come from, the mountains between Spain 
and France? Many of them come over here and drift 
into sheep-herding in our mountains, a job that Amer¬ 
icans find too slow and too lonely. And they insist on 
having these queer bells from home. The clapper is 
always a burro-bone, they say. It doesn’t sound par¬ 
ticularly loud when you are near by, but a long way off 
it carries very well. You’ll meet the sheep men and 
their flocks in very wild places this summer. Your 
donkey has a beautiful bell, Perdita. It’s a Swiss 
mountain one. Look up, Johnny Harvard, and show 
Perdita your bell.” 

Perdita made a naughty face. “I don’t want Johnny 
Harvard. He looks like an old gray owl. I want a 
donkey with some spunk in him.” 

“We obey orders in the Three-Corner Round, Per¬ 
dita,” Ruth remarked casually. “Johnny will do very 
well to carry your saddle-bags. You’ll usually walk. 
I always do. My little Nunatak is for emergency only. 
Where are the saddle-bags, Manuel? You may choose 
which you like among those, Coppertop.” 

Followed a delighted scramble among gaudy carpet¬ 
bags from Lhasa or Yarkhand or Knotan, each big 


10 


GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


enough to hold lunch-bag, extra wraps, ablution-kit, 
and each locking with a most wonderful hand-wrought 
lock and key. 

Santa Clara, intent on learning the names of her 
little new friends, went on down the lines with Joe, 
entering the pack-donkey’s names and numbers in her 
middle-aged note-book: 


I 

Applesauce Cake 

20 

Balaam 

2 

Black 

21 

Carlos 

3 

Red 

22 

Jimbo 

4 

Jacob 

23 

Tomasino 

5 

Pinyon 

24 

Canary Bird Samson 

6 

Frisky 

25 

Xcalibur 

7 

Jiffy 

26 

Pegasus 

8 

Luella(colt: chota) 

27 

Pinto 

9 

Nigger 

28 

’Op-it (colt: Hemet) 

IO 

Pat 

29 

Beast 

ii 

Harlequin 

30 

Cockleburr 

12 

Piute 

31 

Gossoon 

13 

Shrimp (colt: Acrobat) 

32 

Buck 

14 

Etta 

33 

Outlaw 

15 

Dagobert 

34 

Akbos 

16 

Buster 

35 

Cap’n Kidd 

1 7 

Chubby 

36 

Davy Jones 

18 

Java 

37 

Right-Hip 

19 

Geronimo 

38 

Jo Jo Gla 


“Ruth, Ruth, what names!” 

“Aren’t they absurd? I’ll tell you about them at 
breakfast,” Ruth called across the square. “Just look 
at the saddles while these crazy children are washing 


THE DONKEYS 


ii 


their dirty hands and faces. Yours is an Andijiani one. 
See—painted wood, ivory inlays on the edges, and 
silver fittings. Wild West Perdita chose a carved 
Mexican leather with a hair-bridle. Emily has the 
harness with the blue and silver enamel on it, and 
Phebe has a gorgeous King Arthur’s Knights sort of 
camel’s hair skirt to go under her second-hand army 
McClellan. I think every one has something romantic 
now. Ready, girls? Joe, we’ll all have some of your 
coffee for breakfast to celebrate. And now for the 
names! 

“Of course, a lot of them are just the ordinary Tom, 
Dick, ^nd Harry, or Jack and Jenny kind. By the 
way, you know, the Western America ass is always Jack 
and the English one is always Neddy. Curious. 
Applesauce Cake earned his name by getting loose 
from the picket line one night in base camp, and 
eating two thirds of a delicious cake nice old Mrs. 
Ramsay had made for us to take on the first march. 
Java got his by being so dear to Joe’s heart. Clever 
beast that. One night he bit his picket-rope through 
on one side, and finding that inadequate, bit it through 
on the other, found a full grain bag, dragged it over 
to Joe’s bed, and whacked him on the head with it. 
I need another chipatti, Phebe, to finish up this honey 
with. White-faced Harlequin looks like a clown, and 
commemorates two old ‘boys,’ Har, and Leifkin. 
Xcalibur’s original name we forgot, so we called him 
‘X’, and naturally the rest followed. C. B. Samson has 


12 


GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


a particularly harrowing bray, coupled with legendary 
strength. Cockleburr is a nuisance, and Pegasus has a 
star on his forehead and carries the books, suggesting 
a classical atmosphere. Gossoon came out of Lavengro —' 
rather, his name did. Pinyon himself came from 
Pinyon Flats, away down in the San Jacinto country. 
You see for yourself how they happen. And when we 
have to retire one for old age or for bad character—like 
the dreadful wooden-legged Pinocchio who ruined sev¬ 
eral human tempers before his retirement—we usually 
give the name to his successor. Nice little beasties! 

“Do you want to help Joe with saddle-fitting, Perdita? 
Emily and Phebe are going to hang everybody’s blank¬ 
ets out in the sun, and make the tepee tidy, while 
Santa Clara and I go on with our food-packing. We 
did the last of the butter and cheese before you or the 
sun were up. Away with you all, this minute!” 


CHAPTER III 


A NIGHT MARCH 

T HREE-CORNER ROUND tradition madethe first 
march a night one, always, begun near midnight of 
a June full moon. The dust of the road on which the 
first march must be made was less oppressive at night, 
the heat less trying, and there was less danger of meet¬ 
ing trucks (most undesirable of encounters from a 
packer’s point of view, not because the burros fear the 
snorting creatures, but rather because they don’t, and 
will pause to browse a choice thistle by the roadside, 
fairly under the wheels!). Besides these negative rea¬ 
sons, the forest itself was far more lovely at night, in 
the magical moonlight, and, somehow, getting ready by 
lantern-light, and driving the softly stepping little 
beasts between the few houses of Tollhouse while their 
occupants slept was in itself highly romantic. 

Up through the forest the long road climbed, leaving 
the region of the digger pine, with its un-pine-like 
branching trunk, and its great bunches of shimmering 
long needles, passing through a belt of massive yellow 
pines, huge-trunked, huge-boughed, bark in great thick 
scales, up to the first of the sugar-pines, slim, graceful, 
horizontal arms outstretched, long, long, slender cones 


14 


GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 

hanging from the very tips, all dripping with moon¬ 
light. The moon, glimpsed through the trees, casting 
sharp shadows, making abysses of hollows, black deeps 
of shallow glades. In the darkness the sound of run¬ 
ning water was loud and insistent in the deep ravines 
bridged by the road. Drowsy birds, disturbed by the 
soft padding of the passing animals, fluttered, chirped, 
and were still. 

As the dawn whitened, the flowers appeared, wayside 
weeds tall and sturdy, more delicate ones in their midst. 
Even the two thousand feet of difference in altitude had 
made a difference in the flowers as it had in the trees. 
If Ruth had been brought to the spot on a magic carpet, 
she could, after one swift glance about, have fairly 
well gauged its altitude and the season. 

Ruth was in high feather. She led the little caravan 
with free, swinging step, her head held high greeting the 
day. She saw the last star dwindle out, the first sun 
touch on a rugged crag. She saw high clouds and low 
clouds racing in different directions. She heard a rock 
slip high on a steep face, and bound down, down, 
down. She stooped to dip her hands in the cool, swift 
water of a brook, murmuring the while: “Praised be 
my Lord for our sister Water, who is very serviceable 
unto us, and humble and precious and clean.” She 
caressed the mauve and tawny bark of an aged white 
fir as she passed it. She hung the leader donkey’s bell- 
collar with long sugar-cones. She tossed a pebble at a 
squirrel, peering at her from behind a tree-trunk, and 


A NIGHT MARCH 


i5 


laughed to see him whisk out of sight, all but his plumy 
tail. She knelt to kiss a wee “ meadow-gold ” blossom, 
not picking it. She danced after butterflies. She 
squatted by a baby chipmunk in silence till he forgot 
his suspicions and crept to her, nestling his head in her 
breast. 

Santa Clara, who had dismounted from great Coupe 
when the sun came over the ridge, followed Ruth, or 
attempted to do so, watching the freedom of her move¬ 
ment and her swift changes of expression, marvelling 
that such pure, uncumbered joy could be. Through 
her own mind, much against her will, drifted thoughts 
of correspondence neglected, accounts unbalanced, 
committee-meetings and conferences scheduled months 
ahead, problems awaiting solution, faint anxieties as to 
weather or health or comfort or the like. Only by ab¬ 
stracting her mind resolutely from all things earthly, 
and communing with pure divine spirit, could she 
escape from the bondage of humiliating trifles. Even 
the shortness of her breath, as she climbed at the un¬ 
wonted altitude, could hinder her appreciation of the 
beauties of the Earth, air, and water, to which Ruth 
seemed to have unhindered access. 

She gave up at last, and waited on a rock for the 
little train to pass her, and bring her faithful Coupe 
within reach. As she did so, she comforted herself 
with the sage reflection: “It’s old Joe that makes that 
glorious pagan freedom possible. Dorothy Wordsworth 
in that tiny little kitchen of hers, or with her ready 


16 GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 

pencil jottingdown Brother William’s inspired thoughts, 
had a lot to do with Wordsworth’s serene poetry. And 
I’ve always heard that the culture of Athens rested on 
a secure foundation of plentiful slaves. Ruth is 
Chieftaine, but she always knows Joe will stand by. 
She can play with chipmunks!” 

And, full of a slightly unworthy satisfaction, she 
settled into the gorgeous coziness of her saddle, and al¬ 
lowed Coupe Oreille’s easy gait to lull her mind into 
pleasant vacancy, like that in which the girls, on their 
mounts, appeared to be passing the last hour of the 
journey, almost nodding, seeing nothing till “Camp!” 
was announced in a grassy dell, in the depths of a great 
stand of sugar-pine, a mile or more from the high-road. 


CHAPTER IV 


THE LOOKOUT 

T HEY had reached the dizzy height of seven thou¬ 
sand feet above the sea at the end of their fourth 
march. Higher than the highest mountain behind Los 
Angeles, thought the Websters. Higher than Mt. 
Washington, thought New England Santa Clara. “A 
whole mile vertically above Tollhouse, and, think of it! 
only half as high as we shall get before the summer is 
over and we come down to sea-level again!” was 
Ruth’s comment. 

They camped in a small, open space, surrounded by 
magnificent red firs, magnified in name and reality, so 
tall they seemed to have no tops, deep, grooved bark of 
a red verging on purple. A funny little mole, seeing 
the arrangements for camping, hurriedly began to pull 
in all the loose dirt he could find about, to shut his hole, 
and doubtless, sat below, waiting and wondering. It 
was far from the beaten trails, this camp. Perhaps no 
hunter or traveller had ever chosen that spot before. 
“Dot little animal maybe never seein’ mans or booroes,” 
said Joe. 

“That’s the wonderful part of it,” Ruth exclaimed. 
“A few yards away from the trails, with their green 
[17 


18 GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 

sign-posts, and their polite requests to be careful with 
cigarettes and matches, you can feel as though you 
were really exploring. We were glad when we could 
leave the road, and now we shall be as glad to leave the 
trails. From now on, only Three-Corner Round tra¬ 
dition, and ‘ducks’—you know, three small stones piled 
on high rocks, pointing the way, for signs. And I like 
to get a different camp every year in this part of the 
way. I’ve never been here before, anyhow.” 

“Well, somebody has,” put in Perdita, heartlessly. 
“And a woman. Here’s a rusty hairpin, and here’s a 
chocolate wrapper.” 

“Why, Per-ditt-a Osgood,” exclaimed Phebe, in 
deepest reproach. “I saw you pick up that hairpin 
before we left the main trail, and there’s chocolate in 
the corners of your mouth!” 

“Gosh,” sighed Perdita, going off to help Joe build a 
fireplace. “I do miss Peter. Girls, ’specially girls 
who haven’t brothers, are awfully poor sports. They 
don’t know a joke when they hear one.” 

The next day Joe took the boys off in the morning to 
reconnoiter the trail and patch up any places too 
difficult for the burros. Perdita was under orders for 
a rest day—the long, sweet, irresponsible day of dozing 
and waking, which was a Three-Corner Round insti¬ 
tution for its girls, periodically. Ruth had planned to 
visit the fire-lookout on Bald Mountain, not far dis¬ 
tant, and the lot fell to Emily to mind camp. 

The lookout’s station was, of course, on the highest 


THE LOOKOUT 


19 


point in the region, a great, bare ledge. There was a 
stilt-legged glass house for his observings, and a cozy 
stone hut for dwelling. As they climbed, Ruth said 
to the others: “I don’t expect to find the same man 
who was here last autumn. He was nearly, if not 
quite, off his head. He hated being alone up here. 
He spent all his time, walking, walking up and down. 
He made a groove in the ledge doing it, actually. He 
never looked off for fires, even, poor man. I glanced 
into his hut—the door was half off the hinges. It 
was a filthy hole. Most of the rangers and foresters 
are bad enough about leaving tin cans and the like 
around outside their stations, but this place looked like 
a pig-pen. I’d hate to be his successor.” 

“There’s a man!” cried Phebe. “He’s walking up 
and down, too. Is he the same one ? What is he doing ? 
Watching his feet all the time.” 

They came close to the stone hut before the walking 
man discovered them. He was concentratedly count¬ 
ing his own paces, and regarding now a watch he held 
in his hand, now a fluff of paper which was blown along 
the ledge beside him by the breeze. As he saw his 
guests, he made a note in a pocket-book, and then came 
to greet them, carefully picking up his paper fluff, and 
stowing it. 

“Is he really crazy?” whispered Phebe, getting 
behind her two elders, but peering out between them. 

“Good mornin’, ladies! Delighted to see you, I’m 
sure. You’ll have breakfast with me, certain. I was 


20 


GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


just goi]T to cook me some hot cakes, and I’d admire 
to have your company. I breakfast a little late because 
I have so much to do in the mornin’. This is a busy 
job, ladies.” 

Ruth and Clara attempted at first to answer politely, 
but the little man’s flow of speech was unintermittent 
as a well-fed brook, and they presently subsided to 
listening, with soft, uninterrupting sounds of acqui¬ 
escence, and appropriate action. 

“You see, I wake up very early. The birds make 
such a racket. They’re all my friends, and I feed them. 
They’re too lazy to hunt any grub for themselves now, 
I reckon. There’s one or two little fellows’ll perch on 
my finger and eat out of my hand. Out of my mouth, 
even. Then I get up, light my stove (I have the fire 
all laid night before, proper), and run up to the lookout 
for a good look ’round for fires. I’ve reported four this 
season a’ready. Got one report in before headquarters 
was up, one morning. I ain’t goin’ to let none get by 
me, not if I can help it. I usually get up once or twice 
in the night for a look. Uncle Sam don’t expect me 
to work nights, o’ course, but you can see flames real 
well in the dark, and I don’t mind a little extra. It’s 
real pretty these moonlight nights, up here. It’s a 
pleasant berth here. Last man didn’t take to it, 
someway. Queer in his head, I guess. Let everything 
run down. Dirty place. Kept me busy first two weeks 
cleanin’ up. Ain’t got it done real thorough yet. 
Have chairs, ladies.” He swept off* the already dust- 


THE LOOKOUT 


21 


less seats of two chairs, one made from a barrel, then 
turned a wooden box upside-down for Phebe. 

It was an immaculate little hut. The floor was 
scoured. The long deal table was white. The little 
stove was shining black. “I had to take a knife and a 
piece of broken window-glass to that table-top. And 
the stove was a mess o’ rust. A lady I know down in 
the valley, she sent me up some stove-polish. The 
oven ain’t quite perfect yet. I’m tinkerin’ at it. 

“That fella let his grub set around on the floor for 
the rats to run over, but I soon put a stop to that. 
I made me those cupboards with wire over ’em. And I 
set in to trap. Got ’em cleaned out by keepin’ at it 
steady. Sorry to kill ’em, but that bunch’d got into 
bad habits. Habits is dangerous things, Miss.” 

“Not yours, I’m sure,” Ruth managed to get in, 
noticing that as he mixed his batter, he put flour-tin, 
salt-tin, milk-tin, each, carefully back into its precise 
nook on the shelf, after using it. 

A chipmunk hopped to the threshold, and looked in, 
his head on one side, questioningly. 

“Not now, Clarence. Company. Come back later.” 
Clarence vanished. 

The hot cakes were good! There weren’t eating- 
tools enough to go around, unless a knife were ac¬ 
cepted in the capacity of fork. Ruth adaptably fol¬ 
lowed her host’s example in that, leaving the one fork 
and the one spoon to Clara and Phebe. 

“What were you doing when we first saw you?’’asked 


22 


GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


Phebe, when a small “stack o’ hots” had temporarily 
closed the little man’s mouth. He gulped once, and 
began: 

“Measurin’ the winds. Uncle Sam don’t provide 
the station with instruments, and the blanks I have to 
fill out call for items I ain’t quite certain about. 
Now I know my own pace of walkin’, about how fast 
I go when I’m doin’ four miles an hour, f’r instance. 
So I just put this light ball of paper down beside me 
on the ledge and pace along beside it, countin’. ’Bout 
three miles an hour this mornin’, ’twas. That pinwheel 
out there I made me out o’ old coffee cans. It’s pretty 
good to help guessin’ the wind’s speed, and it shows the 
direction perfect. I set the pointer with the North 
Star, same’s a sailor. Pretty place for stars this is. 
I’m goin’ to make me a better pinwheel soon, but I got 
to get some tools made first. I’ve made me a saw—here 
it is—out of a knife-blade. Filed the edge with a old 
file they was here. And I’ve made me a good stout 
wooden hammer. Plenty o’ wood hereabouts. There! 
I was so excited, havin’ company, I clean forgot to put 
on the dishwater. That’s bad management.” He 
seized a bucket, filled a kettle and repaired his oversight 
instantly. 

“Now, while it’s heatin’, we’ll just go up to the sta¬ 
tion and have a look around. I look ’round careful 
every hour, anyway. Well, I swan! There’s smoke 
this minute!” 

He was out of the hut like a flash, the others pelting 


THE LOOKOUT 


23 

after. Up the wooden stairs to the little glass-walled 
room they dashed, to find him sighting across his big 
map, to an almost imperceptible curl of blue on a 
wooded slope miles away. 

“Two miles east o’ Shalers’, half a mile north o’ 
Three Sisters, about three in a bee-line from here. 
That’s a val’able stand of sugar pine over there. I’ll 
’phone headquarters.” 

The telephone was in the hut. They followed him 
back there. They heard him answering headquarters’ 
questions, quickly, clearly. Then he hung up the re¬ 
ceiver, and turned to them with a smile of pride: 
“They’re sendin’ a gang out. One more fire saved. 
Gosh! This is a busy life! I sometimes wisht I was 
twins. Must you go, ladies? I’d admire to have you 
set and visit a while. They’s days and days when I 
don’t hear the sound o’ my own voice, let alone anybody 
else’s. It’s been a real treat to have some conversa¬ 
tion. I’ll have a free hour as soon as I’ve swep’ an’ 
washed up.” 

“We really must go,” said Ruth, “at least I must. 
But perhaps Phebe would like to stay and help you.” 

“O, I’d love it,” cried Phebe. “I’d hate to leave 
before the fire’s entirely out. And I’d like to see him 
feed Clarence.” 

“All right. Can you find your way back to camp?” 

“I’ll fetch her. Four to five-thirty I always walk for 
my health. I’d admire to see your camp. Down by 
the spring, I presume, ain’t you?” 


24 


GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


“O, dear no. We’re away up on the ridge. But if 
you’ll take Phebe as far as the spring, I’ll meet you 
there at four-thirty. Good-bye, sir, and good luck. 
It’s a pleasure to see this station alive again. What is 
it, honey?” 

Phebe had run after the others as they started, and 
now whispered: 

“ But, Chieftaine, if I stay, past dinner, won’t I eat 
too much of his provisions ? I couldn’t earn my keep 
just washing dishes and sweeping, could I?” 

“You darling! I’ll tell you what. When I get back 
to camp I’ll pack up a basket for him, as much food as 
you could eat in two or three meals. If Emily wants 
to come over, I’ll send it by her. If not, I’ll bring it to 
the spring this afternoon. Now, run along, sweet¬ 
heart. Don’t let any fires get by you!” 

Phebe flew off, then ran back, and whispered: “Put 
in a bar of chocolate, do please, and two oranges. I’ll go 
without mine for two days. I’m sure he’d love them.” 

“Girls are a never-failing interest to me,” Ruth 
remarked to Clara as they went on, and Phebe danced 
happily back to the hut. “They are so unexpected. 
I thought Phebe would be shy and homesick at the 
idea of staying here all day, and she’s thrilled. Now, 
I predict that Perdita has disobeyed orders—not that 
she wouldn’t enjoy a rest day, but merely out of per¬ 
versity because it was ordered. We shall probably find 
her in a fir-top, and Emily will have gone to sleep and 
let the goats over-run the camp.” 


THE LOOKOUT 


25 

“Unexpected?” Clara remarked, as they mounted 
to the ridge. A sound of scuffling came first, then, 
just outside the camp, a puzzling sight: a great, 
writhing, horned creature seemed to be rolling down the 
hillside. It suddenly snapped itself upright, and re¬ 
solved itself into component parts—of the naughtiest 
of the nanny-goats, and Emily! 

Emily, hot, panting, fierce passion in her usually 
dreamy eyes, gripping one of Omelet’s crooked horns 
furiously with one hand, twisting this way and that to 
dodge its mate, and all the while laying on, with her 
quirt, whenever she could get near enough to the little 
goat’s rump or legs! 

Ruth flew to her aid, but could not make her let go 
till Omelet suddenly surrendered, all along her back¬ 
bone. Then Emily released her and breathing, quickly, 
watched her run off* to the woods. 

“It may make her milk bad to-night. But I had to 
do it. She doesn’t know the meaning of the word 
discipline. I kept calling: 'Out-of-camp!' every five 
minutes, but she wouldn’t pay any attention. I 
chased her away from the kitchen, and she ran right 
through it. And I chased her away from Perdita’s bed 
and she ran right over Perdita. And I knew you 
wouldn’t want such goings-on, so I just had to take 
her in hand, and train her. She’s smart enough to 
know the pack-lines are boundaries. I’ve had to lick 
her on all four sides of the camp. The first time it 
took twenty minutes. I had to stop for breath some- 


26 


GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


times. The second side she gave up in about ten, 
and these last two sides were both short fights. She 
got her horn into my side once, and I twisted my 
wrist a good deal. It’s swelling a little. But , she 
won’t try to get ahead of me again, that’s one comfort. 
Hush!” Emily stopped and put her finger on her lip. 
“We must go softly. Perdita has been sleeping almost 
all day. I had to drag Omelet a good way out of camp 
to lick her, so as not to disturb her. She looks so 
pretty when she’s asleep. Look! Aren’t her lashes 
lovely?” 


CHAPTER V 


CAMP WORK AND FOOD 

“ ‘I can’t get ’em up, 

I can’t get ’em up, 

I can’t get ’em up in the morning /’” 

R UTH’S bugle rang faithfully out on the still cold air, 
in that early morning darkness which no inexperi¬ 
enced camper can ever believe has any relation to dawn. 

As that bugle had long ago rung farmer girls to 
activity in war-time, so now it knew no mercy. To 
Emily, shrinking under warm Hudson Bays, it seemed 
each morn a cruel Judgment Day trumpet. Phebe 
managed to sleep too soundly to hear it, until it was 
blown above her very head, a moccasined toe poking 
her sides the while. Perdita, after having once been 
drawn out of her chrysalis by her ruddy locks, fore¬ 
stalled disaster ever after by leaping out of bed, and 
if there were a little lake or stream near camp, racing 
herself to it, for a tooth-chattering dip, such as Joe 
took in the morning, and then strolling back to camp 
with the virtuous air of the voluntary early-riser. 

The outfit was organized by now. No lady-visitors, 
no parlor-boarders, were on its rolls. If Joe and his 
helpers did do all the wood-chopping, that was the only 

27 


28 


GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


exclusive privilege they claimed, and that was in the 
interest of the ax-edges, Ruth said, not out of deference 
to the sex. 

Gathering second-size dry twigs over-night, pre¬ 
paring first-size shavings, covering the third-size wood- 
pile against possible rain in the night, then, in the 
morning, starting the fire within the Boy Scout limit 
of matches, keeping it going, even on baking-days, was 
one girl’s particular job each week. To another fell 
the duty of supplying water: not an arduous task in 
the Sierras, if one’s Chieftaine were not so obsessed 
with a passion for high, dry camps, and the wide views 
from them. As it was, the water-carrier had often 
to find, catch, and saddle a donkey, lift to his back 
the kyacks carrying sixteen one-gallon water-cans, lead, 
coax, or otherwise induce the subtly resistant beast to 
some swift-running stream or clear spring (none ever, 
more than once, fell to the temptation of a near-by, 
shallow, mud-bottomed lake!) and there patiently 
rinse, fill, and cork all those cans, and transport them 
home again. 

Perdita liked these jobs better than that of “tidying- 
up,” which fell every third week to her lot. Perdita 
never could keep buttons on, or ribbons tied, or stock¬ 
ings whole, or knickers buckled. She considered 
Ruth’s insistence on an immaculate camp unreason¬ 
able. Picking up scraps of paper or ends of string was 
a bore. She did, however, rather like digging, with a 
little South African War shovel, one trench for garbage. 


CAMP WORK AND FOOD 


29 


and one for indestructibles, though she saw no sense 
in doing it. She was always interested, herself, in 
finding a tomato-tin in a fair spot, and failed to under¬ 
stand Ruth's and Clara's horror at any sign of human 
visitation. 

(“Do you know, Tante Clara," she had remarked, 
one marching-day when she had been peremptorily 
summoned down from a scramble up a cliff to pile 
more effective rocks on her indestructible pit, “you 
and Chieftaine seem to love every creature on this 
earth except just only Humans! You like tracks, and 
feathers, and different kinds of dung, even, because you 
know that some animal has been there. But you just 
naturally have a fit if you see one sign of a Person. 
And he might be Abraham Lincoln, and the rabbit might 
be a nasty, dishonest, sneaking-character rabbit!" 
And Clara had replied: “The Buddhists believe there 
is a special hell for people who leave refuse about, my 
darling!") 

The cooking was Joe’s particular responsibility. He 
regarded it as a solemn rite. He indulgently allowed 
the others to help him, but he never surrendered his 
post as chief cook to any one. Santa Clara loved to 
help him. She always liked to feed people. She 
felt her feet on solid rock when she was doing that. 
Speculations and sorrows and mystical visions all fled 
before the immediate necessariness of cooking beans 
and rice and bacon and fruit for the hungry folk, far 
from any other kitchen. The girls served her and 


GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


30 

Joe as rapt acolytes. “At home you take food for 
granted,” Perdita commented one day, “but here it’s 
important .” 

Three-Corner Round camp cookery was no mere re¬ 
heating of the contents of tins. The indestructible pit 
never received a tin, save Joe’s coffee one or a cocoa 
one, or, twice a season, perhaps, the smallest size that 
ever contains baking-powder. The coffee was only for 
the men. Joe’s beloved “Java” was always on the 
men’s fire, its odor forming a thread of continuity from 
camp to camp, mingling with varying odors of sage, 
manzanita, mahogany, juniper, and pine. Santa Clara, 
complying with camp customs, fought for a while with 
the desire to taste the brew, as earlier saints may have 
fought with visions of hoofed devils, but presently she 
was rewarded with a serene indifference which reminded 
her of her youth’s lack of concern with coffee. 

Phebe envied the men their potatoes. Without po¬ 
tatoes no man-body would “hire out” in the moun¬ 
tains. Heavy with water, transitory in nutritive 
power, they had been ruled out of Three-Corner Round 
tradition from the beginning. Brown, nutty rice, and 
bread of the fine flour of the entire wheat stayed the 
stomachs of the more enlightened members of the party, 
and when Phebe found herself more slender than was 
her wont, she became reconciled to the lack of potatoes. 

Everybody liked bread, liked it more than at home 
where it was merely an adjunct to a meal bounteous 
without it. “The ‘wheaten bread,’” Emily said it was. 


CAMP WORK AND FOOD 


3i 

“that the grave dame always bare in a basket, at the 
feasts in Homer.” “The bread of Life,” to Clara 
took on a deeper significance for all her days, for that 
camp experience. Ruth made them all laugh, telling 
them how at a theatre in town, she had seen the pale, 
little wife in “Liliom” draw a sharp knife through a 
great brown loaf, and Ruth, after the play, had visited 
the stage-door and bought the rest of the loaf from the 
property-man, and taken it to her room for joyous con¬ 
sumption. “I was sorely tempted to go around every 
night after the play, but I was afraid I’d be run in as a 
vagrant. But think of it! The play ran for months, and 
every night a new loaf and only one crusty slice cut!” 

The making of the bread, twice a week, was fraught 
with seriousness. The fireless cookers insured even 
temperature for the risings, no matter how capricious 
the weather. Kneeling before three great dish-pans, 
the three girls would knead, each a loaf (one with 
raisins). As naturally as sailors heave and haul to 
chanteys, so they sang as they kneaded, random sen¬ 
timental or comic-opera ditties. 

Clara came up to them one day with a message sum¬ 
moning Phebe to Ruth, and took the vacated place. 
She at once began singing lustily: 

“Have you any bread and wine ? 

For we are the Romans!” 

The girls had caught the air and refrain before she had 
finished, and at the end of the song and the kneading, 


32 


GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


they hopped about with her, in mimicry of badly 
wounded armies, each side with only one eye, only one 
arm and only one leg. 

Perdita expressed emphatic approval of the song as a 
spirited one “with pep,” and as they all scraped the 
dough from the pans, and from their bared arms, Clara 
told them a story. 

“Once three lovely English girls came to America to 
seek their fortunes. Their names were Dorothy and 
Rosalind, and Cynthia. They had lived all their lives 
in a little moss-and-vine-covered vicarage, with a 
haunted chamber walled off at one end of it. There 
was a very tiny hole in the wall, and if you put your 
finger through the hole, the ghost within would seize 
you and never let you go. From the time they were 
very little girls they used to make up plays and act them 
out, with their mother for stage-manager, costumer, 
and, finally, audience. And all the time they sang— 
old songs that had been sung in England for two and 
three hundred years, perhaps longer. Their mother’s 
head was full of those old songs, and she filled the 
heads of Dorothy, Rosalind, and Cynthia with them. 
You’ve heard Ruth singing: ‘My Man John’ and 
‘The Keeper’-” 

“I know,” shouted Emily, “you mean those pretty 
broadsides in Pegasus’ pack, with the darling colored 
woodcuts at the top. I’ve been picking out the one 
about ‘Mowing the Barley!’” 

“Yes, Dorothy made those broadsides, and Rosalind 



They Sang as They Kneaded 
















♦ 


























• • 












IBS il *89 

















■i 











. 

■ 



CAMP WORK AND FOOD 


33 


did the square notes, and Cynthia colored the figures. 
Well, when they came to America, they had no fortune, 
except their little green Irish harp and three quaint, old, 
crinoline costumes, with brooches, and little slippers 
with long, narrow black velvet ribbons crossing on 
their white stockings. 0 yes, and like the milkmaids 
of the old songs, they had their faces, and besides, they 
had their voices, and they had their dramatic skill, and 
they had their very charming selves, and they had their 
old-time songs. 

"It was like a fairy-tale, their coming to America. 
Poor old America! Or rather poor young America, 
who had so many things to look after, and was in such 
a whirl and stir all the time, that she hadn’t any time 
to be young, or to play, or to dream. And suddenly 
right in the midst of her busy, noisy swirl, she found 
on her engagement books: ‘Folk-Song Concert Friday 
evening, 8:15,’ and she hurried off* to it, just as she 
hurried off to committee-meetings and board meetings, 
and afternoon teas and woman’s clubs, and bargain 
sales and caucuses. And when she got there, and got 
her hat unpinned, and her program unfolded, she rubbed 
her eyes, and was just as much enchanted as any 
princess by any witch in any fairy-tale. There were 
three lovely girls ‘with names like symphonies’ or, 
better, like ballads, and there were quaint old costumes, 
and there was the little Irish harp, and there were 
three clear, sweet, English voices, and there were the 
old song;,, the real, true songs, that were never ‘written,’ 


34 GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 

never Composed/ and sold and advertised, and f fea¬ 
tured/ but the old songs that just naturally grew up— 
you know that line: ‘Once words sprang up all wild, 
like April flowers’? That was the way those old songs 
sprang up, and because each of them had something 
vital in it, some tragic undertone, or some hearty old 
joke, or some shrewd observation, it didn’t die, as the 
rubbish you girls usually sing will die, in a dozen 
years at the outside. Those old songs are just as much 
alive to-day as they ever were. And the way poor, 
hustled, nervous America drank them in showed the 
girls who sang to her that it was America who was in 
danger of dying, not their old folk-songs, and that it 
was only by such enchantments as theirs that poor 
young America could be kept alive long enough to have 
a chance to get her bearings on the whirling Earth. In 
England, you see, you don’t think so much about the 
Earth whirling. There are usually clouds to hide the 
stars, and you get to feeling that the Earth is a quiet old 
body. And there is so much time in England that 
people don’t have to hurry. They know there is a lot 
of time, because in everybody’s back yard is an old 
barrow of prehistoric times, or a bit of Roman road, 
or some relic of the Normans. They know there is 
enough time, because they can never forget what a 
prodigious lot England has already had. America’s 
skies are so clear that she is aware of the mile-posts 
spinning by, out in the stellar system, and it makes 
her feel that she must try to spin, too. And as for 


CAMP WORK AND FOOD 


3S 

time, she is afraid it will stop any minute, for to her 
time has really only just begun! 

“What she needed was the old, old songs, sung to 
the little old harp, by the girls, who had had time to 
sing and to play when they were little. 

“ But singing and playing enchantments to a whole 
nervous nation, is a wee bit wearing, and once, while 
they were here, Dorothy and Rosalind and Cynthia 
ran away and did something different. Up in the 
New Hampshire hills they found a countryside without 
a trolley car, or an electric light or a single stretch of 
pavement. And up there they found people living in 
lonely farmhouses at the foot of high hills, whose fore¬ 
bears had come from England in the days when the 
old songs were still sung by every one, not just by 
mothers and children in vine-covered vicarages. And 
Dorothy and Rosalind and Cynthia let themselves be 
stolen by gypsies, and taken there for a whole week, 
as calendars measure time, but really forever, as time 
should be measured, for those, who have eyes to see 
and ears to hear, can still see and hear them on those 
hills! 

“In a big blue-wheeled wagon they sat on the straw, 
and two big horses drew them about the steep, narrow 
roads. At little country school-houses they stopped 
and taught the children singing games: ‘There came 
three dukes a-riding,’ and ‘Jenny Jones’ and ‘The 
King of the Barbaries’—there’s a game for you, Per- 
dita! I’ll teach you it to-morrow—and ‘The Roman 


GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


36 

Soldiers’! And sometimes they stopped at a field 
where men were haying, and got out, and a fiddler 
produced a fiddle from somewhere, and they danced old 
reels. And sometimes they did the Morris down the 
leafy lanes, like the maid who danced a mile in Noyes’s 
poem. ‘Who will dance a mile with me?’ you know. 

“And at evening they stopped at one hospitable old 
house after another, and the neighbors gathered, and 
they all sang together. And the last night of the week 
everybody came to the dreary old Town House where 
people usually gather only for battles of politics. This 
time fairies had made it bright with flowers, and the 
lanterns were brought in from under the farm wagons, 
and put about the walls, and then everybody sang and 
danced and played singing games, and nobody who was 
there will ever forget it! That was what Dorothy, 
Rosalind, and Cynthia wanted to feel: that somewhere 
the old songs should take root; that even if, on the 
whole, nervous America should rub her eyes and say: 
‘What a lovely dream! But I must get right on with 
my schedule! There’s a Civil Service Reform League 
Executive Board meeting to-morrow at 3:30’; there 
should be one place where the engagement-book would 
not turn another page, and the old songs would always 
be at home.” 

“Were you there, Santa Clara?” Phebe had arrived 
in time for most of the story, and her eyes were shining. 

“No,” laughed Clara, “I wasn’t, but that’s just one 
proof of the fact that the songs did take root, because 


CAMP WORK AND FOOD 


37 


my telling you this story three thousand miles away is 
like my giving you a cutting, a ‘slip/ as old ladies call 
it, from my folk-song plant, and mine grew from a 
cutting from that one in the Cornish hills.” 

“Stones is hot for de bread, little ladies. Cake’s 
done, too, ready to take out,” said Joe’s soft voice, and 
everybody flew to action, getting the loaves into the 
coolers, a most delicate and engrossing task. 

It would not be ready till morning, staying all night 
in that modern version of the old brick oven, baking 
slowly and thoroughly, its starch and its sugar turning 
into brown caramel-like sweetness, its crust forming 
thick and toothsome. But so fundamentally import¬ 
ant was The Bread to every one, that it was not till the 
last blanket had been tucked around the cookers, that 
any one took time to look at the cake. 

And the cake deserves a capital, too, really. A 
most delectable cake, made of butter, brown sugar, 
whole-wheat flour, eggs, fruit, nuts, and spices. The 
appearance of it on the table-cloth—for when the cake 
was done it was straightway eaten, without regard to 
meal-hours, one of Ruth’s most human notions—brown 
and hot and crusty, its warm spicy fragrance when it 
was solemnly broken—no knife ever allowed to cut 
it—made poets of them all. 

“Spice,” wrote Clara in her middle-aged diary the 
night after the folk-song story, “is akin to youth. 
To youth spice is the essential ingredient in a dish, as 
peril or romance is essential in any enterprise. Im- 


GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


38 

portant as bread is here, when we have no meat but 
bacon—(Ruth would let us starve before she would have 
a deer shot in her mountains, I verily believe. She 
says: ‘Never, O never is the arrow meant to pierce 
the tender body of a deer, even as fire is not for the burn¬ 
ing of flowers!’) I don’t believe the girls would care 
half so much for it if it were not for the one loaf with 
the raisins. Emily has a kind of ballad refrain which 
she loves to sing to herself when she is seasoning soup, 
or at other times, too: 

“ 4 Marjoram, sage and thyme, O! 

Marjoram, sage and thyme Y 

“One of the traditions of the outfit, is that when 
caught on a windswept pass for all night, with no fire 
and only half the animals and packs up, small David 
said, comfortably: ‘Anyhow, we have the spices!, 
And one of the black weeks in Three-Corner Round 
annals is known as: When the Cinnamon Gave Out. 
I wonder, is the Elixir of Youth distilled from cloves 
and nutmeg?” 

And meanwhile, Perdita, by the light of a dim mica¬ 
faced candle-lantern was writing the weekly page Clara 
required her to write her mother for midsummer post¬ 
ing: 

Dear Mother, the most tiresome things in this camp 
are Vittamuns. Chieftaine and Santa Clara eat onions 
to get ’em. I hate onions. And I almost hate comb 
honey, because they say they’re in that. I don’t know 
what they look like, do you? I don’t believe anybody 


CAMP WORK AND FOOD 


39 


does, but I can feel them squirming inside me. Even 
eggs have them. And oranges. Ruth says that’s why 
she brings so many oranges. And she says they are in 
that nice, clean, goat’s milk, and you can’t strain them 
out. I do think grown-up people are silly, not you, of 
course, Mother or Daddy. But most grownuppers. 

Your loving daughter, Perdy. 


CHAPTER VI 


TRADITION 

M ARCH day, camp day, baking day, march day, 
camp day, baking day. The little caravan moved 
on over the high country, dipping into valleys, climbing 
up to passes, crossing swift waters, camping always, 
always in individual and delightful places. 

It seemed that those mountains, narrow though they 
really were, were all the world: that their little group 
of humans, goats, and donkeys was the whole population 
of the Earth, a little nomadic tribe seeking some valley 
too fair to leave. 

Watches had permanently run down. Dawn and high 
sun and dusk were sufficient divisions of the day. Days 
of the week were long since forgotten. Occasionally 
Ruth or Santa Clara would lead the girls in reciting the 
camp prayer, St. Francis’s Canticle of the Sun, but every 
day in such surroundings was a Lord’s Day. Worship 
was inevitable in those austere and lovely presences. 
Our brother the Sun was often greeted in St. Francis’s 
words as the serrated sky-line dipped into his luminous 
regions. Phebe never crossed a brook without mur¬ 
muring praise to our sister Water. Clara, waking by 
night, found her lips forming the phrase: “the stars, the 


40 



Marching Day 















TRADITION 


4i 


which he hath set clear and lovely in heaven” before she 
quite knew she had waked. Ruth, whose religion 
was as inarticulate, yet as real, as the rocks and trees 
about her, sometimes found herself praying with the 
old saint for strength “peaceably to endure,” when 
stupid girls or stubborn donkeys, or lazy Indian boys 
forced themselves too strongly on her consciousness. 
Rest days were taken for the sake of men and animals 
when needed, not by any convention of calendars. 
Recreation and play were never thought of, in a life 
whose every function was natural and unstrained. 
Days of the month Ruth figured out spasmodically now 
and then, in order to orient herself with the planets, and 
when Phebe’s birthday was imminent, every one tried 
to keep track, some by notched sticks, and some by 
“total recall” conversations: “The day we met the 
cowboy was Sunday, I’m sure, but was that the 14th 
or the 15th?” “Well, Mother’s birthday was the 10th 
and that was Tuesday. I figured it out all the way back 
from Tollhouse.” “The day it rained so on the march 
Joe said it was Friday luck. That was just a week after 
I washed my middie, and Emily said I needn’t wash it 
again, it got so soaking because I couldn’t remember 
which top-pack my rain cape was in.” And so on. 

All they were really aware of, was their slow, certain 
progress from the low western side of the range, up over 
passes, down across valleys, by the trail the Three- 
Corner Round boys had made for their own, to the dis¬ 
tant eastern crest, where, they knew, the great scarp 


42 


GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


dropped sheer ten thousand feet to the desert valley 
floor. To achieve that crest was their first object. 
Each day’s march, with its busy packing, its difficulties 
of trail or weather or animal temper, seemed utterly 
important, engrossing, and when camp was reached 
and made, the lines down, the fireplace built, the wood 
in, the dinner cooking, the donkeys unpacked and 
turned out for the night, every one felt a sense of vast 
and valuable accomplishment. 

They knew, too, that when the crest was reached, 
their summer’s work would simply begin a new phase. 
Then they would turn southward, a long trek of six 
weeks or so, close to the crest, over trails chosen, marked 
and made, by the boys who had preceded them. 

So much touch they had with their own outfit’s his¬ 
tory. To add their own initials to the boys’ when they 
found one of the modest little brass match-boxes, left 
under a cairn on an interesting pass, thrilled them far 
more than to inscribe themselves inside the Sierra 
Club’s copper cylinders. They pressed Joe for his 
memories of the outfit. 

“You must remember, Joe dear,” pleaded Emily. 
“You were out with them the very first year, before 
they called themselves Three-Corner Rounders. Please 
tell us a story about it. The first boys were Jim 
and-” 

“O dot Chimmie! Always losin’ his gloves, he was. 
And no good on de trail. Watchin’ de little birds, dot 
Chimmie!” 


TRADITION 


43 


“What was Bill like?” 

“ Dot Billie, he leavin’ de fence down one time, losin’ 
all de boQrroes.” 

“The fence? There aren’t any fences in the moun¬ 
tains. You’re stringing us, Joe,” declared Perdita, dis¬ 
gustedly. 

“We was over in de Santa Inez dot time, little lady. 
It was winter-time, and dese mountains deep in snow. 
Snow where we was, too, plenty. And dot cook, he 
go queer in his head like. Dot cook! Muss’n milk! 
Nodin’ else he cookin’! Boss he fire him.” 

“O dear,” sighed Perdita. “I should have loved 
to see him fire the cook. I never saw anybody fire 
anybody. They always do it when you are at school 
or somewhere.” 

“But what did you do without a cook, Joe?” worried 
Phebe. 

“Nobody hungry in my camp, Miss. Nor in the 
Boss’s.” But nothing more could they get out of him. 
He would show them his little pack of treasures, and 
tell them stories of his little boyhood among the Black- 
feet in Canada, of the pair of tiny buckskin breeches he 
wore, and of the horses he used to ride, but tales of their 
beloved institution were not to be had from him. 

Ruth was not much more helpful. She had in¬ 
herited the outfit from her gypsy godmother and her 
husband when they had left America for Central Asia, 
and had made up little parties of girls, somewhat as 
they, before her, had done with boys. She found with 


GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


44 

amusement that these three were not at all interested 
in the doings of the girls who had gone before them, 
—only in those mysterious boys. 

The donkeys, some of them, could have given much 
light, had the girls and they had a common language. 
A shrewd sketch could each leader have given of the 
characters of the boys to whom his “line” had fallen. 
There is nothing more certain than that a donkey tries 
out a new boy, in a real tug-of-war of character to see 
what stuff there is in him. As little Elmer said: 
“Jacob can’t come, Quarter-Mistress. He said to me: 
‘Elmer, I’m sick. I can't come, Elmer.’” But he 
came, for some one less gullible than Elmer, without 
hesitation. And Pinyon broke four halters in one 
day to see whether he or the gangling youth were master. 
Each of them had memories like that tucked away in 
his wise brain, but never a hint of them could the girls 
extract, for all they petted the little fellows, smoothed 
their silken ears, and bestowed loaf sugar whenever they 
were allowed to do so, fed orange peel, and passed bricks 
of salt for their eager licking. Only wise looks and an 
occasional snuggling were their reward. 

There was an old camp cook-book in the kitchen, with 
a long dedicatory page, in which names of boys, asses, 
and goats were inextricably woven together. They 
puzzled over that when they should have been empty¬ 
ing out the cook-boxes, and tidying their contents of 
cooking-utensils^ soap, matches, spices, and oddments. 

Clara cheered them greatly by telling them that she 


TRADITION 


45 

had been promised in the midsummer mail a copy of 
an old typescript diary kept by Ruth's godmother one 
season, under the title of Letters to Nine Mothers. 

“It is curious," she wrote in that middle-aged note¬ 
book, where the entries grew steadily shorter and 
less frequent, “how this interest in the Old Boys per¬ 
sists. They scarcely mention their schools or their 
homes. Girl friends they seem to have forgotten. The 
impossibility of getting mail, and the improbability of 
having a chance to send letters out before midsummer 
seem to check their natural tendency to write letters. 
They live absorbed in the present, keenly interested in 
the donkeys, in the food, in the flowers, in their cone- 
collections, happy just breathing and climbing and 
looking and feeling. They like cooking and sketching, 
and learning splicing and saddling, and all the rest of 
it. But each one of them is acutely conscious all the 
time, apparently, of carrying on a mystical Three- 
Corner Round tradition, which seems to bind her to a 
group of unrelated, unknown, possibly quite uncon¬ 
genial boys, all, even the youngest, several years older 
than herself. It is analogous to a college spirit, or a 
fraternity loyalty. It is not that they are in the least 
boy-struck, any of them, in the usual way. Perdita, 
twin to Peter, and boon companion of the limb o' 
Satan, Elsmere, has plumbed the so-called deeps of 
masculinity, and regards those deeps with the con¬ 
tempt of familiarity. Her mother says, when she was 
eight, she announced: ‘This marrying business is all 


46 GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 

nonsense. I’m never going to marry, nor let my 
daughter!’ Emily and Phebe have never known boys 
at all, and seem as little concerned with the sex as with 
the phoenix or the unicorn. But to all three, ‘to do it 
the way the boys used to’ is a cardinal article of their 
creed. Ruth tried to improve the method of folding 
blankets the other day, but the reproach in Phebe’s 
eyes was too much for her. She abandoned the at¬ 
tempt. And they all three balked when I suggested 
that as we had plenty of raisins, we might make all 
the loaves with raisins, once. ‘It’s not so in the cook¬ 
book’ was final. I wonder what motive of thrift, or 
somebody’s personal idiosyncrasy, limited the number 
of raisins in the first place? Very likely, it was merely 
an intuition on Quarter-Mistress’ part due to knowledge 
that a treat is much more appreciated than daily 
luxury. I find myself most hampered, in the process of 
rejuvenation, by my maturer independence, my revolt 
against the conservatism of the Young. Yet even I 
like the traditions after all, and would hate to see the 
outfit adopt chairs and tables and beds instead of the 
Earth and lap-trays, and tarp rolls!” 


CHAPTER VII 


A QUARREL 

H IGH altitudes make edgy tempers. The Mount 
Everest climbers were chosen partly for their 
equable dispositions. I doubt whether any one of 
them has had red hair. 

High altitudes affect digestion. And Emily liked 
eating. In spite of warnings, she was inclined to eat 
as much as she would have eaten in her sea-level home. 
Joe saved her special tid-bits, because he knew she liked 
them. She had a little hoard of sweet chocolate and 
hard candies which she had prudently laid in, in ad¬ 
vance, and which she thought no one else knew about. 

Add the above two paragraphs and the answer is: 
A Quarrel. 

Not a blazing, fight-it-out-and-get-it-over boy scrap, 
but a polite, lady-like, prolonged sulk. 

“May I trouble you to move your feet? I should 
like to pass, if I could, without inconveniencing you.” 

“I beg your pardon. I wouldn’t be in your way for 
the world.” 

And so on. Instead of gay, teasing nonsense, and 
warm, intimate chatter, icy, stiff, sneering nastiness 
unpleasant to every one. When Clara remonstrated 
47 


GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


48 

with Coppertop, Coppertop’s big brown eyes opened 
wide with innocent surprise. And when Ruth said 
sharply to Emily: “Quit this silliness!” Emily’s blue 
eyes looked pained, and Emily’s society voice mur¬ 
mured: “I beg your pardon?” 

Camp was getting to be quite intolerable. Poor 
little Phebe, who had no more idea what the quarrel 
was about than the principals had, went off by herself 
or played with the donkeys, making them garlands of 
pink pentstemon and yellow monkey-flower, and tearing 
long strips of red flannel to wind their bell-collars and 
make rosettes for her favorites. Joe was worried, and 
once forgot and said: “Hell!” instead of “Heaving!” 
the substitute he had schooled himself into using in 
the presence of ladies. 

The third day dawned, and the Quarrel dawned afresh 
with it. 

After breakfast, Chieftaine Ruth took Emily by the 
right arm, and Perdita by the left, and led them, em¬ 
barrassed and annoyed, to a quiet glade, hidden from 
the camp by two huge boulders dumped there by a 
glacier some thousands of years ago. 

“If you were in a story-book,” said Ruth, “one of 
you would fall over a precipice, and the other would, 
by some hair-raising effort, save her life, and this silly 
quarrel would be over. And if you were my daughters, 
I should spank you both soundly this minute. But 
you’re not in a story-book, and you’re not my daughters 
(thank Heaven!) so we’ve got to clear the air in some 


49 


A QUARREL 

other way. As chief of this camp, I command you two 
to fight each other now, with your fists, like a pair of 
sensible boys. I mean it. If you wish to stay in my 
camp one day longer—one, two, three! Hit /” 

Astonished, ashamed, frightened, but compelled by 
that firm voice, Emily and Perdita, half crying, stum- 
blingly, awkwardly hit. Emily’s fist landed feebly in 
Perdita’s eye. Suddenly Perdita, instinct peeling off 
the thin veneer laid by generations of repressive train¬ 
ing, began to pummel furiously. 

Emily, thus pressed, responded in kind. 

Ruth, watching, felt the smothered intensity of days 
giving way, and with a satisfied expression on her face, 
turned back to camp. As she left the glade she heard 
a thud, and looking over her shoulder saw the two 
rolling on the ground like puppies, then sitting up, 
staring at each other. And the next minute out rang 
shrieks of laughter, jolly, heartful laughter, echoing 
from the solemn peaks, and she heard Perdita say 
merrily: 

“You’ve made my nose bleed, you outrageous pirate! 
Got a handkerchief to lend me?” 


CHAPTER VIII 


“the big red ruby” 

P ERDITA had been pining for adventure. She 
found life in the Sierras uneventful. No wild 
beasts had come her way. A dreary coyote chorus now 
and then failed to thrill her. “If it were wolves, 

now-” A marmot was only a woodchuck. Stalking 

a deer merely to watch it was not very exciting sport. 
There had been no dramatic plunges over precipices. 
Pat, rolling down a long, steep slope distributing his 
top-pack of lanterns, glittering, as he rolled, but Pat 
himself, landing five hundred feet below on his four 
tidy hoofs, and calmly beginning to graze as though he 
had only paused to yawn between mouthfuls—that was 
only comedy, not adventure. Losing the goats bade 
fair to be interesting, with coyotes near enough to have 
devoured them, but Ruth’s glass soon picked them 
out peacefully ruminating on a ledge above camp. 

Perdita had expected to meet wild men in the moun¬ 
tains, bandits, fierce-eyed refugees from justice. There 
had been only a mild-mannered shepherd, whose Basque 
tongue was unintelligible to Ruth’s Spanish ear as to 
Clara’s French—a shy, gentle little man, following his 
two thousand sheep about all day nervously, lest they 
So 



“THE BIG RED RUBY” 


5i 

come to grief, rounding them up for roll-call so often 
they had barely time to feed. He had given Joe 
wine from a goatskin bottle, and some of the famous 
sour-dough bread, the “starter” for which Queen 
Isabella was said to have given Columbus when he set 
out from Spain in 1492. But Perdita had only heard 
about it, had not shared in the tasting. There had been 
a wrinkled little old man, who told them he was “a 
half-man” and asked in a whisper: “Find anything?” 
From his pocket he took some bits of rock and a glass, 
and showed them eagerly, telling them a rambling 
tale of a rich find and a partner who had done him 
out of his rights. 

“He was a little interesting, but not very,” com¬ 
plained Perdita. “Honestly, Chieftaine, don’t you 
think one rather needs people? I thought coming out 
west would be thrilling all the time, but there hasn’t 
been the least sign of an Adventure since the kid¬ 
napping. That was fun!” Perdita sighed deeply. 

“Tell me about it, honey.” Ruth looked up sym¬ 
pathetically, and Perdita squatted alongside her and 
began. 

“Well, you see, one day, Tante Clara asked me if 
I would like to go out west with her. Of course, I 
jumped at the chance. Then she said she would make 
all the arrangements after we got out here, but she 
would leave all the arrangements at home to me. So 
I thought of being kidnapped.” 

“Of course,” murmured Ruth. 


52 


GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


“It was a lot of fun. Tante Clara is a perfect peach. 
It was a real kidnapping. Nobody knew, and I put 
some clothes in a bundle and climbed down over the 
porch roof in the middle of the night and met her down 
a back alley, and whistled-” 

“Three times?” 

“Yes, and she was there, all wrapped up, close, like 
I told her to, and she had a car she had hired from 
Floyd waiting at the cross-roads, and we drove about 
thirty miles to a junction and bought tickets to a 
place we weren’t going to. Golly! It was a rip¬ 
per!” 

“How about your parents?” 

“O, I left a note pinned to my pillow. I pricked 
my arm and wrote it in blood. Bad spelling, you know, 
like really kidnappers. I told them they’d hear again 
in a few days by telegram. And they did. We tele¬ 
graphed them from Chicago. ‘All safe. Be back in 
October.’ Bet they were excited!” 

“Did Miss Lyndsay mystify her friends, too?” 

“Yes, she did. She honestly did. She just went to 
bed that night, and the next day she wasn’t there. But 
she let Dr. Helen go and see her family and tell them 
she had prescribed her off somewhere.” 

“And then, when you had got all the way out here, 
you didn’t find her part of the plan as good as your 
own?” 

“O, it’s good enough. I like it, but you see, I did 
hope there’d be something doing.” 


“THE BIG RED RUBY” 


53 


“I see. I like adventure, too, Perdita. I don’t 
think I could live without it. But there are different 
kinds of it. I suppose a baby gets a thrill out of crawl¬ 
ing over to the table and pulling off the table-cloth 
with all the dishes on it. And I suppose a movie-fed 
chicken like yourself must find a ‘West’ without a 
revolver or a pink-shirted cowboy in it pretty tame. 
And Joe and Jose and Manuel are such peaceful In¬ 
dians! But though I usually spend my winters in 
towns full of hold-up men and thugs, do you know, 
I always come back to the mountains, feeling that I 
shall find my real adventures there. The kind of 
adventure I like best is best found here. If you’ll 
put each of us up a lunch to-night, and be ready early, 
I’ll take you into one of my fields of adventure, to¬ 
morrow, if you like.” 

Perdita agreed, but went off without much hope, 
and the next morning plodded along behind Ruth up 
a long, long talus slope above the camp, with more 
politeness than enthusiasm, thinking: 

“It can’t be glacier signs she’s going to show me, be¬ 
cause this isn’t a cirque or a corrie, or whatever she 
calls those things, and there’s not a muttoned rock 
anywhere about. But I’ll bet it is something stupid 
like that. Who cares whether there was a glacier 
here a thousand years ago or not?” 

Ruth stopped a long way up the slope, and from the 
sharp-edged bits of rock among which they had been 
picking their way, chose two, one an ordinary bit of 


GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


54 

granite, the other a piece of fine-grained, hard, dinky, 
dark rock. 

“That’s enough to give me a thrill,” she said. “I 
could keep awake longer, thinking about those two bits 
of rock, than over the wildest detective story your Peter 
and his pals pass around unbeknownst, the kind you 
can’t find at the public library, and nobody ever gives 
you for birthdays.” 

Perdita grinned. “'Bright-Eyed Bert, the Boy 
Detective, Robbing the Big Red Ruby. ’ There’s 
something doing in those, all right!” 

“So there is in these rocks of mine. Want to hear?” 

“Sure thing.” And Perdita plumped herself down 
on a fairly comfortable flat rock and gave her attention 
cheerfully. Ruth began to speak in a low voice, as 
befitting one speaking of very great marvels. 

“The Pacific Ocean was over here once, Perdita, 
away over here, and beyond, as far as that eastern 
scarp of the mountains we have been all these weeks 
trying so hard to reach, from the west. That’s the 
first thing the black rock announces. 

“The Pacific washed as long a line of coast then as it 
does now, and every stream that emptied into it 
brought gravel and sand and mud from the land, and 
dropped them on the bottom of the ocean, near the 
shore. And the tiny sea-creatures that always live in 
sea-water dropped their shells to the bottom. And the 
waves kept nibbling the rock shore, and carrying bits 
of it out, and dropping them. 


“THE BIG RED RUBY” 


55 

“Now the ocean-bottom, near the shore, was shaped 
like the trough of a long, long wave, thousands of miles 
long, and perhaps two hundred miles wide-” 

“O, Chieftaine, how can you know that?” inter¬ 
rupted Perdita reproachfully. 

“I don’t know it. Nobody really knows. But find¬ 
ing out things like that has been the kind of adventure 
that has thrilled men ever since they began to think at 
all. And men, and women, too, have thought and 
thought, and studied, and travelled about over the 
earth, and looked and looked and looked, and have 
talked over what they have seen, and written books, 
and read books, and argued, and guessed at the mean¬ 
ing of what they have seen. And at last some of their 
guesses have seemed so nearly true, and have stood 
such hard tests that I dare tell them to you as if I 
really knew. Every year or so some one finds some 
new set of facts that either upsets the old ideas or makes 
them surer. You may as well learn, right now, that, 
while we know positively a great many facts about the 
earth, the explanations of the facts are just guesses, 
more or less good, and a lot of them are liable to be 
knocked galley-west day after to-morrow. It’s not 
true because a teacher tells you, or because you read 
it in a book. By the way, the books that try to ex¬ 
plain everything under the sun, or above it, to chil¬ 
dren, are usually quite as full of lies as ‘Bright-Eyed 
Bert . 9 ” 

“I know,” Perdita nodded. “‘The All-About-It 



56 GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 

Book’ and that kind of rot. But people do give you 
those books for birthdays.” 

“The people who do should be put to the sword,” 
said Ruth grimly. “But books are combustible, never 
forget that. A bad book should be burned as surely 
as a bad snake should be scotched. But to get back 
to our story. 

“The ocean’s floor at the continent’s edge was shaped 
like a great wave-trough, they tell us. Most of the 
stuff brought by rivers and dropped by sea-creatures 
was inclined to stay in that part of the ocean-bottom, 
when it had once drifted or rolled there, and there it 
made smooth, smooth layers, more and more of them, 
the mass getting steadily thicker and thicker. 

“As the mass of layers thickened, the layers them¬ 
selves gradually changed, stopped being mud and sand 
and clay and lime, the weight of the upper layers on 
the lower ones pressing them into solid rock, sandstone 
and pudding-stone, and shale and limestone.” 

“Pudding-stone! What a funny name! I didn’t 
know puddings ever had stones in them!” 

“It’s called that because there are rounded stones 
fastened together in a mass of finer stuff, like plums in 
a pudding, I suppose. The more dignified name is 
conglomerate. I’ll show you a bit in my jewel-box 
when we get back to camp. But that’s off the point. 

‘ “Those layers, that mass of layers, I mean, probably 
got to be several miles thick, and as they got heavier 
and heavier, the rock that had been the bottom to 


“THE BIG RED RUBY” 


57 


begin with, the bottom of that wave-trough in the 
ocean-bottom that the first layer was laid on, began to 
sink a little, a little. 

“Think of it! That whole, long, wide, thick mass of 
layers, solid rock below, not quite so solid rock farther 
up, shifting sand still farther up, on the top washed 
back and forth by waves—that whole mass getting 
forever thicker and thicker and thicker, and the bottom 
of it sinking deeper and deeper! And at the same time, 
if you please, the land itself at the ocean’s edge was all 
the while coming up, a little, a little-” 

“‘And turn myself about, 0 , here we go, Looby 
Loo!’” sang Perdita. “‘I shake it a little, a little’— 
so that made the mountains—the land coming up!” 

“No!” Ruth’s voice was sharp. “You may skip 
in your Big Red Ruby, or the Know-It-All Book, if 
you like, if you’re silly enough to read them. But my 
story you follow sincerely, or leave altogether.” 

“Please go on. I’m truly sorry. What did make 
the mountains?” 

“We’re coming to that. But first, that sinking of the 
bottom and that rising of the shore made a hard, hard, 
rock coast-line on the land, much harder than was there 
before, and under the water, along the coast, for miles 
and miles and miles, lay a thick mass of layers, miles 
wide, miles thick, miles long, heavy as heavy, and al¬ 
ways getting heavier, over it all washing the big 
Pacific, as you saw it near San Francisco, quiet one 
day, blue in the sun, great white-crested breakers rolling 



58 GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 

in, the next. You might have gone surf-bathing along 
here, along just here , Perdita, never dreaming of that 
longwave-shaped mass of layers below!” 

Perdita threw out her arms in a swimming stroke and 
her eyes shone. “I wish I had! I wish I could!” 
she breathed. 

“Perhaps, all those millions of years ago, you did 
bathe there, or here, rather. Maybe you were a mer¬ 
maid. And a magic came along and put you to sleep 
for millions of years, and now you’ve waked up, in the 
same place, only two miles nearer the sky, and instead 
of roaring white surf, you find your tail lying dry on a 
crumbling old mountain side! Do you want to know 
what happened while you were sleeping?” 

Eyes gave serious answer, with no hint of scoffing at 
the fairy-tale even, and Ruth continued: 

“What happened was a Shove. A mighty, Titanic, 
beyond-imagination Shove. It came from the sea, 
they tell us. All along the seaward side of that long, 
thick, coastwise mass of rock layers came a Shove. 
Shoving that mass of layers up against that hard rock 
coast. Shoving that mass of layers eastward tre¬ 
mendously--” 

“Gollee! What happened? Did it shove all the 
land east, too? Must have been worse’n an earthquake. 
Why, it might have shoved east and east all the way 
’round the world-” 

“Hold on! It wasn’t a big enough shove for that. 
It wasn’t a beyond-yowr-imagination shove, after all. 


“THE BIG RED RUBY ,, 


59 

It wasn’t a big enough shove to disturb that solid rock 
land edge at all. That stood fast, like the granite it 
was. Only the not-nearly-so-solid layers of sandstone 
and limestone gave way. And, what with the Shove 
behind them, and an absolutely solid wall in front of 
them, they could do only one thing—Perdita Osgood, 
what?” 

“Crumple up!” 

“Correct. Crumple up. A thousand miles long, 
and perhaps two hundred miles wide, got into a thou¬ 
sand miles long and eighty miles wide. And how about 
the thickness?” 

“Let’s see. Oh, thicker. Lots thicker. My word, 
how they must have stuck up! ” 

“Stuck up? I should say so! Layers tipped up on 
edge, layers slanted over, layers bent and snapped in 
the bending. 

“If a mighty shove came on the side of your bed at 
home, and shoved it up against the wall till it was only 
half as wide as it was before, you can think how the 
springs and the mattress and the sheets and the blankets 
and the down-puff and the spread would first wrinkle, 
then crumple, and then fold all up-” 

“With peaks and valleys and ridges,” cried Perdita. 
“It would make a mountain range of Counterpane, and 
joggle The giant great and still’ right off his ‘peaceful 
pillow hill. ’ I think this is fun, Chieftaine! ” 

“All right, but don’t get to thinking of beds and 
bed-clothes and the like of that over much. Remember 



6o 


GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


this was the Earth, here, all the way south to Lower 
California, and all the way north to Alaska, years with 
a packtrain, to get your body all that distance. And 
the Ocean was the same old Ocean you saw at San 
Francisco. It’s away over there now, beyond the 
mountains we have been crossing, beyond the great 
San Joaquin valley, beyond the Coast Range. But 
once it was here/' 

“How the water must have run back when those 
old sandstone layers crumpled up!” chuckled Perdita, 
quite taken with the idea. “I suppose the first crumple 
looked like an island ? And by and by there was a row 
of sandstone hills all along the edge of the land. Just 
about as high as the land? Or else they’d have shoved 
clear over ? ” 

“Perhaps. But the next guess is that that old land 
went down, plump! Faulted down, they call it.” 

“Mercy! And that left the crumpled thing sticking 
up in the air, with the astonished old Ocean on one side, 
and a low country on the other. So that’s how the 
mountains got made. But I don’t see what that black 
rock had to do with it.” 

“Good Lord, child! How you do jump! Stupidly, 
too. You know these mountains aren’t sandstone and 
limestone, if you don’t know anything else about them.” 

“Hm, yes—they’re granite. Well, what did you tell 
me all that about the sandstone crumpling up for? 
Didn’t it happen?” 

“O Perdita. I did hope you’d ask the one question 


“THE BIG RED RUBY” 61 

that ought to be asked just here. Why didn’t you 
ask: ‘What made the Shove?’” 

“Well, it’s never any use to ask the bottom why. 
Nobody ever tells you. They say: ‘Run along and 
don’t bother.’ I’d like to know why so many things 
happen, but it’s no use.” 

“I couldn’t have told you, in this case,” said Ruth, 
“but you may always ask me anything real that you 
want to know, and I’ll never say not to bother. Usually 
I’ll have to say I don’t know, and often that nobody 
knows, but that is the adventure I told you of, asking 
why, and trying to find out the answer. There’s no 
hunting hidden treasure that could possibly compare 
with it for thrill and excitement. It might be a little 
bit interesting to get at something that was locked 
away from you, by using a burglar’s jimmy on the lock, 
or blowing it open with your big army pistols, but 
imagine the excitement of finding a real hidden truth, 
with your own mind for the tool that opens the way 
to it! A truth, that has been a truth since the begin¬ 
ning of time, guessed at long ago, perhaps, by some of 
those far-sighted old Greeks, hoped to be a truth by 
generations, but never known to be a truth till you, 
in your laboratory, superbly imagining and then pa¬ 
tiently experimenting, can finally say: ‘I have found 
it! I have done the last tiny bit of work necessary to 
prove it beyond doubt!’ That, I call Adventure, my 
dear. The ‘why’ I wanted you to ask just now is oc¬ 
cupying the lives of many men: men in the mountains 


62 


GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


all over the world, looking, looking, chipping rocks 
with hammers; men in laboratories looking at thin 
slices of rock with microscopes so powerful they make 
you tremble when you think what secrets they lay open; 
men in ships along the coasts, looking down at the sea- 
bottom, and looking off at the land’s edge, making 
measurements, and drawings; men in offices making 
maps and charts, and doing no end of fearfully com¬ 
plicated ‘arithmetic examples’—all in the hope of at 
last getting a really good guess. And when they have 
got it, they will go on working to prove it, and turn the 
guess into a certainty. 

“But to leave that ‘why’ to the men who are working 
on it, we must get back to our mountains, if we are 
going to have any tiffin this day. Probably, for a long 
time after the Shove, and after the land had faulted 
down, there was a long range of mountains of folded 
sandstone and limestone here, and they wore away as 
you see these mountains wearing away to-day: rain 
falling on them, water freezing in cracks, ice melting 
and pushing, making cracks bigger, lightning splitting 
off bits, wind blowing off bits, sun scorching off bits, 
brooks all the time carrying the broken bits away; 
sometimes land-slides carrying off great chunks. 

“And after a while the ordinary-looking sandstone 
and limestone, on the top and toward the top, was 
pretty well worn away, and there began to appear two 
new kinds of rock.” Ruth tapped her black bit on 
the granite. 


“THE BIG RED RUBY" 


63 

“You mean there was granite underneath, and that 
black thing? How in the world did the granite get 
there?" 

“Granite underneath, yes, and had been all the time, 
going nobody knows how far down, hot granite, in¬ 
conceivably hot, with all that heavy load of miles and 
miles of sandstone layers on top. I can’t make out 
myself what that very hot granite was like down 
there—is like, for, I suppose, there’s a lot like it down 
there below us now. We used to be told it was prob¬ 
ably a good deal like boiling molasses, but that guess 
has been discarded. It must be different from the 
granite we see now, so tremendously hot. You can 
tell a liquid from a solid, but you know the same thing 
doesn’t stay the same way all the time." 

“You mean ice turns into water, and water into 
steam. What does granite turn into when it’s hotted 
up?" 

“Something very terrible when it gets a chance to 
melt. Under all those heavy, heavy miles of rock it 
can’t really melt, however hot it is. It’s as solid, 
probably, as it is now, cold. When the folds crumpled 
up above it, that pressure was released somewhat. 
Those great layers that had been two miles high were 
on edge now, you know, miles thick from east to west. 
There must have been cracks here and there for the 
melted granite to get into, but that squeezing Shove 
had shoved the folds pretty tightly together, and 
there were probably no big empty spaces. The granite 


6 4 


GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


was so fearfully hot that it made space for itself, when 
it got a tiny start, by melting some of the softer layers 
clean out of existence. 

“Can you see it boiling along, melting some layer, 
baking others ?” 

“Baking! Soho, that’s what made old black rock 
so hard and black? I’m glad to get him into the story 
at last. Why didn’t he melt?” 

“The baking made the hardness, not the blackness. 
Baked sandstone is more often light. 

“I can’t quite say why he didn’t melt. Layers of 
rock are always uneven. You often see a layer left 
when others on either side of it have worn away. Any¬ 
how it didn’t melt. The granite went on, swelling and 
swelling, taking up the empty space it cleared for itself, 
as fast as it could, and such a huge force there was in it 
as it expanded-” 

“I got awfully warm once at a party in a last sum¬ 
mer’s dress and it popped, simply popped!” 

“That’s the idea. So did some of the sandstone 
layers, with that granite expanding under them— 
popped and cracked, and the granite went on up, filling 
the cracks. Some didn’t melt or pop, but that didn’t 
stop the raging, molten mass. It simply went on, well¬ 
ing up, all about the resisting layers that wouldn’t 
melt, or break off, or give way, and carried them up, 
embedded in hot granite—up, up, higher and higher.” 

“What made it ever stop? Did it get clear through 
to the top?” 


“THE BIG RED RUBY” 


65 

“No, granite never does that. It would be lava if it 
did that. The heat must have been getting less all the 
time, of course, with all that work of expanding and 
carrying and melting and baking. You know what 
hot maple syrup does when it cools ?” 

“Sugars.” 

“Yes, forms into crystals. So does hot granite when 
it cools. So did this particular mass we have been 
talking about. Formed into myriads of tiny crystals 
all interlocked into a solid mass, and thereby stopped 
rising, stopped carrying the baked sandstone that had 
not melted or popped, stopped, with a mile or so of 
unbaked sandstone and limestone above it. Here the 
granite and baked sandstone are now—on top—the 
upper layers worn away a couple of miles above sea- 
level. (Perhaps the sandstone was once as far below 
the sea-surface, and the granite much farther still.) 
Crumbling away together now, with sun and rain and 
wind and frost all working on them. These black bits 
all about us are the crumblings of a great long block of 
baked sandstone, in a vertical layer, baked by the 
granite, and carried up by the force of its expanding, 
carried off like a resisting slave by a conqueror, not 
really conquered! 

“Just to see that black bit thrills me, Perdita. 
Think! It means the sea. It means that mighty 
thrust, perhaps two or three such. It means the old 
highland that afterward slumped down, over there to 
the east where Owens Valley lies. It means the freeing 


66 


GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


of the pressure on the unimaginable hot solid below. 
It means the melting and upwelling of all that mass. 
It means the crystallizing. (If you were once to see 
through a big microscope those interlocking crystals 
in a shaving of rock!) It means the centuries of slow 
wearing away, tiny bit by tiny bit-” 

Ruth paused, her eyes half shut in a dream. 

And Perdita—Perdita who scoffed at Phebe’s fairy 
fancies, and was bored when Emily’s awakening sense 
of beauty held her staring at sunset cloud or henna- 
colored lichen—Perdita felt something new stirring 
within her. With the sharp edge of the black baked 
sandstone gripped in her palm, fairly cutting it, she 
watched the surf of that ages-ago ocean, saw the 
“Wild, white horses foam and fret,” hearkened to the 
roar of incoming seas, tasted salt upon the air, saw a 
cormorant dip and dive. She felt the swish of waves 
on sands, caught a glimmer of the meaning of the 
pressure that made sand grains into rock, shivered at 
the great Thrust throwing up the layers on edge, 
gasped at the image that came next, of the upwelling, 
swelling, melting granite—though her image of it was 
somewhat like a cross between boiling fudge and a fire¬ 
spitting dragon! 

Then the inner vision stopped abruptly. But still 
there was the black rock, part of the great layer lifted 
up, resistant to granite’s heat, wearing away now be¬ 
fore rain and sun and wind and frost, never ceasing 
their tiny operations. And there was the granite all 



“THE BIG RED RUBY ,, 


67 

about, wearing away, too, like the other. And there 
was the wide mountain country before her, peaks, talus 
slopes and valleys, cirques and lakes and cascades, 
stretching as far as she could see, north and south, al¬ 
ready half its width, east to west, behind her, a month’s 
plodding of her feet and the little burros’, and as much 
more lay ahead. 

And Perdita, always flippant and ready of tongue, 
said nothing. Ruth, rousing from her own dream, 
looked at the girl with sudden hope. The thrust had 
come late to Ruth’s own heavily-bedded mind, but 
it had come, and an upwelling had come with it. She 
could never forget the fierceness of that crumpling of 
the layers of dullness and pettiness and apathy in her 
mind, nor the passionate ardency of the intellectual 
desire that followed. She rose now and, leading the 
way to a stretch of fine talus, leaped down it in long 
strides, Perdita following, joining lustily in the an- 
tiphonal song with which mountain folk in Central 
Asia descend such slopes: 


-ft- 








H 

Ha 

dc 

iman 

W 

ia la ha 

0 & SI 

dam zer 


\7 -LL 



1 



CJ 


Ha" 

dam ma la ha damzer 


























CHAPTER IX 


yeast: an interlude 

W HILE Ruth and Perdita were adventuring on 
the mountainside that fair summer’s day, Santa 
Clara, with sketch-book in hand, had wandered some 
distance out of camp, in search of the flowers that 
sprang up out of the debris of granite as freely as in 
an English garden’s borders. She never plucked them, 
but, like the Japanese, visited them where they grew, 
loved them, sketched them, took the memory of them 
away with her against colorless hours that might come. 

She had been drawn to a great overhanging cliff, 
under whose face she saw a mass of starry columbines, 
pale yellow and lucent white. But as she approached, 
she heard a sound of sobbing, and startled, turned 
aside. Behind a huge fallen block of scree she came up¬ 
on a tumbled pile of golden-green tweed and dark hair. 

“Emily, Emily darling, are you hurt? Did you fall? 
Tell me, instantly. Look up here!” 

Poor Emily lifted swollen cheeks and buried them 
again in her arms, sobbing. 

“No, no, I’m all right. What did you come for? I 
couldn’t cry in camp, and I had to cry somewhere!” 
“Can’t you tell me about it, dear?” 

“What’s the use? You wouldn’t understand. 
68 


YEAST: AN INTERLUDE 


69 

Everybody loves you. And everybody loves Phebe. 
And Perdita doesn’t care whether they love her or not. 
But nobody loves me, and I can’t bear it!” 

Clara sat down alongside, and waited. 

“They call Phebe, darling, and they call Perdita 
Coppertop, but they just call me Emily. And when 
I begin talking, nobody listens, and nobody ever asks 
me to go for a walk-” 

“There, child. That’s enough. Can’t you see your¬ 
self how foolish all this is? There is something the 
matter with you, but it’s not what you think it is. 
Shall I diagnose your case for you?” 

Emily nodded, and abated her sobs to listen. The 
storm had spent itself, anyhow. 

“The deep-seated root of your trouble, my dear 
patient,” Clara went on lightly, but with a tone of 
tenderness in her voice, “is chronic and incurable. It 
is that you are a woman. Dear, all that is the matter 
with you now, is nature stirring in you. You see, 
you were made to love and to be loved, not only to 
love your mother and Phebe and your girl chums, but 
some day, when everything is quite ready, to love your 
own man and your own children, and to be loved by 
them. You know how, when we put the yeast into the 
dough, it bubbles and bubbles and changes all the 
flour and water and salt into something very different. 
It’s like that with you. Nature puts a yeast-cake into 
every woman-nature she makes and under certain 
conditions, it ‘works’ and makes her a power. But 


70 


GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


we don’t live simply, and with an eye only to nature’s 
purposes, nowadays, so sometimes, instead of a peaceful 
rising of our bread we get a stormy fermenting that 
hurts. It does hurt, dear, I know. No girl ever 
grows to be a woman nowadays, probably, without 
knowing some of that restless hurt. But it doesn’t hurt 
half so much when you know what it is. The worst 
pain comes when you don’t know, and try to explain 
it. When you felt wretched to-day, if you had under¬ 
stood rightly, you would have said: ‘O dear, that fer¬ 
ment of mine is working a bit to-day, ahead of time 
again. I must bottle it up, to wait till the right time 
comes. I’m glad it’s there, for when my liege lord 
comes, and wants me, I’ll be all ready to join with 
him, and make a fine loaf of bread in the world, tra la. 
Meanwhile, this uncomfortable feeling in my heart is 
no worse than a little headache or a burnt finger, or a 
stomach-ache. It doesn’t mean that any one dislikes 
me, or anything silly like that. And if I go to work, 
and think about something else than my own self, it 
will pass off, and I’ll feel just as jolly and full of non¬ 
sense as I did last night.’” 

Emily was staring, full of interest. “What a funny 
way to talk, Santa Clara!” she exclaimed, in a natural 
voice, presently. “You are the queerest!” 

“It’s straight sense, young person,” returned Clara. 
“You go about a good deal of the time, dreaming and 
thinking of Emily Webster. You don’t hear what 
the rest of us say, and you don’t wake up to your share 


YEAST: AN INTERLUDE 


71 

of the work, sometimes, not that you aren’t willing to 
do it, I think, but only because you are so engrossed in 
your own thoughts that you don’t see what there is to 
do. And occasionally that irritates the rest of us a 
little. And if we don’t call you sweet names as we do 
Phebe, it’s because you aren’t always ‘all there,’ and 
she always is. She thinks of the rest of us, and you 
think of you. And there seems to be a law in life, 
that one person can be thought about only so much, 
and no more. If one undertakes to do the thinking 
about one’s own self, other people will leave it all to 
one, and attend, either to themselves or to some one 
else. For instance, right now, you are so engaged in 
thinking about that fermenting yeast of yours, you’ve 
clean forgotten that I was out here to sketch flowers, 
not to relieve maidens in distress. Aren’t you ashamed 
of yourself? Wonderful columbines they were, too, 
quite hopeless to sketch, but all the more necessity for 
looking hard at them, and holding them in one’s head. 
Did you notice them on the way here?” 

Emily shook her head shamefacedly. “I just 
stumbled up here to cry. Where are the columbines? 
I do love them. I wish you’d show me.” 

And two minutes later, two worshippers were on 
their knees before that great, starry clump of quiver¬ 
ing, honey-colored blossoms, the ferment of woman 
in their respective breasts recognized, and gently set 
aside until its hour, their whole natures meanwhile 
drinking deep of the beauty before which they knelt. 


CHAPTER X 


HIGH CAMP 


T THE edge of the sky. Just at dawn the pack- 



iJL train crawled up the last, long slope, past a great 
cornice of perpetual snow, to a blackened cliff where a 
stout stone fireplace and an array of dry sticks stood 
on end, with even a little hoard of shavings in a cranny, 
greeted them in the name of Three-Corner Round. 

East and west, north and south, they looked, with¬ 
out obstruction. They paused to gaze, even before 
loosening the cinches of their tired riding animals, or 
kindling that hospitable fire. 

The moon, full, was low in the west, and the jagged 
peaks in the east, going down over the earth’s rim into 
daylight, were each, either fringed with light, or cu¬ 
riously diaphanous, almost translucent, buoyed up on 
a drift of purple haze, till they seemed rather to be 
descending from Heaven than to be part of earth. 

“Come, chickens, choose your bed-sites. You’ll 
find excellent ones smoothed off for you. Bess and 
Gretchen were wonderful workers with pick and shovel 
last year, and they left fine places. Now Joe will 
make us some good, hot, chocolate malted milk. 
Wasn’t it good to have the little goats to stay us that 


72 


HIGH CAMP 


73 

last hour? The boys will do the unpacking, and then 
straight to bed, all of you, the minute the sun is fully 
up.” 

“I’ll bet the old boys slept all day after the twenty- 
four hour march.” 

“Not all. As I heard the tale, one at least was 
ready after an hour’s nap to help the Sahib get wood 
and water. There had been nobody ahead of them to 
prepare, you know.” 

“Must have been fun, exploring. Was it really 
twenty-four hours, Chieftaine? Or was that just a 
figure of speech?” 

“No, really. From dawn to dawn. With an hour’s 
nap over there, just beyond where we camped last 
night, near where you peeped over the precipice to see 
the lake in the moonlight. They had to wait for the 
moon to come up, so that they could go on chopping the 
trail. There wasn’t a spot fit for camping, or turning 
out the beasts, short of this. Imagine trying to make 
camp in that white-pine mat, or getting through it 
without the pretty trail we came by!” 

“Weren’t they starved?” 

“Of course, though they stopped for tea and soup 
by the way (and Quarter-Mistress started sponge for 
bread while they chopped trail, and carried it into 
camp, still rising nicely. I’ve heard her tell of that). 
But starving was part of the interest. Not one of those 
boys, I’ll wager, had ever had too little to eat for a 
whole day in his life, and most of them had often had 


74 


GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


too much. Can you imagine anything more stupid, 
anyhow, than feeling obliged to fill your stomach three 
times a day, seven days a week, four weeks a month, 
twelve months a year, seventy years of life ? 

“That’s so,” reflected Phebe, “but eating’s fun, 
and you get into the habit of it. I suppose you wouldn’t 
die in one day though, if you didn’t have a single thing.” 

“Well, I know something stupider,” put in Emily. 
“And that’s spending all your precious nights in bed. 
Why, you might die without ever knowing what night 
was like. I used to think it was Dark, and I was 
afraid of it, but now I think it’s friendly. It’s like a 
kind of flower, it’s so soft. And you can hear so much 
better in it, all sorts of little sounds. And the stars 
are much lovelier than the old sun, I think.” 

“Hsh! There he comes! That was a wicked thing 
to say just now, Emily Webster,” declared Perdita. 
“‘Good Morrow, Lord Sun!’” And she bowed low 
to the ground as the great golden glory burst upon 
their sight in a gap between two of those jagged peaks. 

“See the shadows! Our shadows now!” cried 
Phebe. “And O! do look at these lovely little flowers! 
The gravel’s all full of them! Tiniest silver leaves, all 
folded, like little fairy sword-blades of steel. And the 
flowers are like little pea-blossoms, tiny blue and 
white bonnets!” 

“It’s your old friend lupine in its Alpine dress. 
You’ve seen it higher than your head down in the 
valley. And here see! Fairy phlox, ^tnd tiny asters 


HIGH CAMP 


75 


like little buttons fastened to the ground. Some day 
when you go to Florence,” Clara added, “you’ll see 
quaint old paintings of artists who were just learning 
to paint. Their mountains won’t stay in the back¬ 
ground, no matter how hard they try—you’ll sym¬ 
pathize with them, Emily, won’t you? I do! And in 
the foregrounds they often paint neat little flowers, 
very, very carefully. These make me think of those. 
Those will make you think of these. Look out, Cop- 
pertop! Don’t go to sleep right in your chocolate cup. 
Drink it down, and get yourself inside your blankets 
quick, quick, quick!” 

A wonderful place to dwell for a few days and nights, 
that great almost-flat mountain-top, with its full circle 
of horizon, Mount Humphrey and his peers showing 
on the eastern sky-line, Red and Three Sisters on the 
western; even, in clear hours, the Coast Range glimpsed 
surely. It was like riding the earth bare-back, camp¬ 
ing there. Facing eastward at sunset, one could feel 
the rush of that unimaginable sweep, as the moun¬ 
tain left the sunlit space and rolled into the star-lit. 
Or one watched, facing westward, the sky-line rise 
across the face of the sun, and the rosy-bordered shadow 
spread itself upon the sky. No one resented the bugle 
in that camp: the miracle of the dawn up there, beyond 
the tree-line, was potent to reach the most sleep- 
besodden. 

None but Three-Corner Rounders would have con¬ 
ceived the spot as a possible camping-site. Water for 


GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


76 

drinking was hauled a long, long way up, on donkey- 
back. For abbreviated bathing and for cooking and 
dish-washing, they melted snow from that great cor¬ 
nice, in whose hollows tiny, rosy finches hopped about, 
gathering insects and wind-blown seeds. The girls 
descended with Jose and Manuel a long mile to the last 
wood, driving back a long train of donkeys with sticks 
of wood piled all over them, till the donkey was lost 
to view, all but his sturdy little legs, and perhaps a 
pointed ear somewhere. It was necessary to leave some 
wood for the next year, to carry on the outfit’s tradi¬ 
tion. They devised meals which should require little 
fuel, and instead of the nightly camp-fire which they 
had enjoyed hitherto, in their richly fuelled camps, they 
sat about the tiny fire, which Joe told them was the 
Indian’s fire as opposed to the white man’s. They 
tried to stay their appetites all one day with the Indians’ 
food, parched corn put into the mouth along with a 
big drink of water. The camping manuals praised it 
highly, and the idea of economizing on labor and on 
wood appealed to them all, in theory, but alas! not at 
all in practice! 

“It makes me feel ashamed,” Perdita remarked, 
when she had fallen hungrily on a bag of emergency 
biscuit, “just to think how much more independent 
those donkeys are than I am. They sleep anywhere, 
out of the wind, without any bed-clothes, and I have to 
pick every darn stone and even a thick little plant like 
a lupine one, out of my bed-site, and then I have to 


HIGH CAMP 


77 

have three good thick blankets to keep me warm, and 
a tarp to keep me dry. Every donkey raises his own 
blanket on his own back, and it took I don’t know how 
many camels or sheep to keep one of us from dying with 
cold.” 

“And they find their own food so easily,” agreed 
Phebe. “Just climb around among the rocks and get 
one nibble here, and then walk about a mile and a quar¬ 
ter, seems to me, to get the next nibble. I should 
think they’d use up all the strength they get out of the 
food, climbing around, hunting for it. They don’t 
seem to like the meadow-grass, where it’s nice and 
thick and juicy, do they, Joe?” 

“Bunch-grass, dey like, Missy, dat grows high up on 
de hills. Sweet it is and strong for ’em. Dey knows 
what dey wants, dem little booroes. Don’t you go to 
worryin’ about ’em.” 

The altitude of this camp was about twelve thousand. 
They all felt exhilarated. And besides, the summit 
sense was upon them. They felt epochal achievement 
in having thus got up, by long, slow stages, from the 
low, rounded foothills about Tollhouse, to this point, 
remote from any sign of man, in the very heart of the 
great, austere peaks. After days of marching with this 
camp as immediate objective, they settled down with 
a feeling of leisure, to occupations long-postponed. 
Emily tried golden pudding, a poetic concoction, with 
brown bread as a basis, raisins, dates, nuts, and spices ap¬ 
plied freely, and a beautiful star of orange slices on top. 


78 


GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


Ruth got out her jewel-box, with its trays of bright 
inch-square specimens of rocks and minerals. Phebe 
joined her in rapt admiration of the beauties of color 
and grain and lustre, and while Ruth identified her 
findings of the month, Phebe dreamed out a ball¬ 
gown for Cinderella, of azurite, with furry bands of 
soft, fibrous talc, transparent sleeves of pale pink 
tourmaline, and slippers of pure quartz crystal. Then 
she planned a court costume for the prince, of jasper 
velvet, slashed to show topaz satin, and tiny galena 
buckles to his shining hornblende shoes. “And when 
the clock struck twelve,” she murmured, “all her 
pretty clothes turned into rusty old limonite, and the 
glass slippers into stupid, plain brown mud.” 

It was in those days of leisure, too, that Phebe dipped 
into that forbidding-looking book, Dana’s Mineralogy , 
bringing up as a trophy a most beautiful series of 
color-words, which she learned by heart and chanted 
over her tasks: 

“Emerald-green, bluish-green, mountain-green,apple- 
green, pistachio-green,” or “ruby-red, cochineal-red, 
hyacinth-red, orange-red, crimson-red, scarlet, rose-red, 
pink.” 

Clara spent whole days sketching the wide sky¬ 
line of peaks, fascinated by the momentary changes 
made by shifting lights and shadows, and the revela¬ 
tion of form and perspective as the day progressed. 
The middle-aged note-book, for some time dormant, 
was roused again, to receive such aphorisms as this: 


HIGH CAMP 79 

“No dogmatist could sketch a mountain peak from 
day to day from different points of view, or from hour 
to hour from one viewpoint, and have left a shred of 
dogmatism about him.” 

Perdita was less sedentary in her tastes. She got 
Manuel to hang her over the steepest cliff-face by a 
rope, the end of which she had first, under his tuition, 
crowned with a “Turk’s head.” It was she, prowling 
about the Three-Corner Round cairn on the high point 
where the boys had had their transit station, who found 
in a little tobacco-tin a pathetic half-sheet of paper, 
on which a Spanish shepherd had inscribed his name, 
and under it, a “List of Spanish Cityis, Madrid, Valla¬ 
dolid, Salamanca, Valencia, Vitoria,” beguiling a home¬ 
sick hour, there in his lonely range, with only his sheep 
and two little pack-asses for company. 

And it was Perdita who undertook, when Joe went 
out taking fifteen donkeys to meet the incoming pack- 
train, which was to bring midsummer mail and the next 
two months’ provisions, to call the roll of the others 
every day. She always impressed one of the other girls 
into this service. It was a most difficult thing to find 
all those mobile creatures. Their hoofs made tracks 
which Manuel and Jose, usually, and Joe always, could 
follow, but to the girls they were as meaningless as 
Urdu characters. Perdita privately believed that some 
at least could fly. 

It was fun to stand on a high rock and watch the 
donkeys feeding. Amazing how hard it was to count 


8o 


GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


them. They say that famous mathematicians at high 
altitudes have been known to dispute the sum of 
two and two. That may have been why one girl 
would count 29 and another 31, and that no amount of 
checking, or adding and subtracting, could make the 
number tally with the known number of donkeys who 
should be present. The only safe way was to find each 
donkey in person, salute him, examine his tiny brass 
tag, even if you were “certain sure” who he was, and 
enter his number in a note-book. Pat and Dagobert 
looked a good deal alike, unless you had them side by 
side, and could see that Pat’s hair on his back inclined 
to curl, and that Dagobert had a kind of fringe. And so 
on. As you came to know them better, each one re¬ 
vealed markings or habits or personality quite dis¬ 
tinctive. Pinyon, of course, was the only black-nosed 
donkey ever seen in America. Gom, the old senator, 
always sided with the majority, and was never moved 
by anything to the point of lifting or drooping his 
century-old ears. Harlequin was as shy as a wild 
bird, and needed to be made love to, to get him to do 
anything at all novel, like crossing a brook, or climbing 
down a rock stairway. There was dainty Etta, the 
quitter, given, as generations of girls and boys had 
discovered, to lying down in critical places, with her 
pretty head hanging over a precipice, waiting for some¬ 
one to unpack her and drag her bodily up. There was 
little Shrimp, who with her daughters, Luella, JifFy, and 
Acrobat, and her grandson, Chota, would sweep down 


HIGH CAMP 


81 


anywhere, scramble up anywhere, without assistance 
from any one. There was faithful old Beast, who when 
his friend Black fell down a long, long trail, up which 
they had just been toilfully urged, looked wistfully 
back, and then fell loyally down, too. And there was 
Jimbo whose hind legs were auburn, and Pegasus, who 
wore long black stockings, and had a white star on his 
forehead. And handsome Buck, and meek old Out¬ 
law, so named because he had been sold to the outfit 
by a man with a price on his head. And meek, blue¬ 
eyed Nigger, who would endure so much, but whose 
bucking, when roused, was most effective. 

Perdita loved to name them all, feel their fat necks 
judicially, to see if those emergency larders were being 
kept full, and often, often, to repeat the never-failing 
pastime of drawing a pair of docile ears to the ground, 
seating herself on a stout neck, and then, letting herself 
be lifted as the head came to a normal position, sliding 
on to the broad back, and slipping off to the ground 
again, before or after the quivers that precede a buck¬ 
ing. And there were the furry little colts, gambolling 
like kittens, as much fun to watch as the little goats. 
There was even a possibility of pitting goat and colt 
against each other for a bit of excitement. 

So, “to each after his will,” the days of leisure on the 
mountain-top slipped away. 


CHAPTER XI 


MIDSUMMER MAIL 


HREE full days had passed since Joe had de- 



A. parted. He had only to go, with his donkeys light, 
the length of the little valley below them, past Lake 
Rose, and another little strip of blue farther up the 
valley, not named on the map, and so over Seldon 
Pass. The packer, who was to bring in the supplies 
and post by Piute Pass from Owens Valley, was due 
two days before Joe started. His instructions were 
to cache the supplies if he could not wait. Joe should 
have been sighted, coming back over Seldon Pass, on 
the third day, surely. 

Supplies every day grew visibly lower. The cocoa 
had run out before they reached High Camp. The 
cheese vanished the day of their arrival. Phebe la¬ 
mented loudly over the last empty cinnamon-tin. 
Macaroni enough for one more baking, not au gratin this 
time; two glasses of Mrs. Webster’s precious roselle 
jelly (“Fancy eating flowers! But Mrs. Webster puts 
a flower-touch into everything she says or does,” said 
Ruth to Perdita and Clara. “You should see her 
adorable kitchen. It is like a dainty flax-flower it¬ 
self”). There was plenty of bacon and a huge quantity 


82 


MIDSUMMER MAIL 


83 

of flour (“I always calculate, and then double, on bacon 
and flour. It would be so terrible to run out!”). The 
butter had kept sweet all the two months, thanks to 
the dry, cool air, and the faithfulness with which it 
was watered, and exposed at night, but now it was all 
gone. Bread had to be eaten with honey, and only one 
comb of that was left. A few rather dubious eggs were 
lurking in the last layers of bran in their sea-weed- 
quilt-lined kyack, and the oranges, doled out one a day, 
would last for another week. 

Ruth sang a dreary melody: 

“ First the food failed, 

Then the wood failed, 

Then the last water dried. 

In the faith of little children 
They lay down and died!” 

Perdita organized the three girls into lookouts, with 
regular watches, and an elaborate system of signals, to 
be displayed from the top of the cairn. 

The fourth day passed with nothing sighted. The 
fifth was well along. Perdita was on watch, looking 
very business-like, with the black case of the field 
glasses slung over her shoulder, the glasses firmly held 
to her eye. 

Below, on a sunny rock, Emily basked, indolent 
utterly in a sun, which a native of England would avoid 
as a plague, hiding his fog-bred head under a great topi, 
but which to a true Californian is as sweet as a mother’s 


GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


84 

caress. Phebe beside her, humped over some writing, 
presently asked: “How do you spell ‘kyack’?” 

“ ‘ K-y-a-c-k’, I suppose. What are you doing?” 
Emily rolled over on her side, and looked lazily at her 
sister. 

“Tm making a dictionary of new words I’ve learned 
out here. Got most of ’em from Joe.” 

“Where’d you get the note-book?” Emily put 
out a hand and annexed the little index-edged book. 

“Chieftaine. It’s like the one she calls her brain. 
You know, she has everything put down in its proper 
place in the alphabet: Beans, Donkey No. 14, Butter, 
No. 20, Cocoa, 12, Candles, 12, Flour, 16—like that.” 

“ Is that how she tells ? I never noticed. She sends me 
for something sometimes, and I thought it was queer it 
was always where she said. What’s an alforkis?” 

“Read for yourself. It’s a dictionary. Joe says 
our pack-bags and fibre boxes aren’t kyacks at all. 
Kyacks are all in one piece, and go over the animal’s 
back, and hang down on both sides. Our bags are 
alforkises, I think it’s interesting to know the right 
names for things.” 

“Well,” yawned Emily, tossing back the little book. 
“‘Sweepings’ isn’t the right word for ‘hash,’ whatever 
Joe says. I think it’s vulgar.” 

‘“It’s funny,” protested Phebe, “and so is ‘getting 
deep enough’ when you mean you’re going to quit 
your job. And ‘canary birds’ for donkeys, ’cause 
they sing so sweetly. ‘Canary birds of the desert’ 


MIDSUMMER MAIL 


85 

Joe calls them, when he doesn’t call them his ‘little 
frien’s. ’ 0 , Emily, what do you think Fve found out ? ” 

“Shoot!” Emily had rolled back on her back and 
was courting freckles on the bridge of her nose. 

“Fve found out how to stop the donkeys from bray¬ 
ing!” 

“A lot you have! Read it in Galton: Art of Travel. 
So did I. Tie a brick to their tails, so they can’t lift 
’em. They can’t bray with their tails down.” 

“No, that would be cruel. I found this out my¬ 
self. You know how fearfully they bray when they 
see the nose-bags coming. Well, one day when Santa 
Clara was having a rest-day, I knew she was almost 
asleep, and I did hate to have her wakened. So I 
watched very carefully, and I discovered that you 
could tell when they were going to begin. They don’t 
start right off in a bray. They have to get ready. And 
if you get them at just the right point you can stop 
them. After a certain place they can’t stop them¬ 
selves, but before that, if I just run up to one and tap 
him on his nose, he stops like a shot. Fve tried it 
privately each feeding-time, lately, and it always 
works. And now, if I just catch their eye, and shake 
my finger, they stop. I’m beginning to understand the 
magics Joe does with his long stick, when he runs down 
the line and makes them behave.” 

“I’d do a magic on them with a long stick, myself, 
if I had to drive them. That Pinto always holds back 
when they come to water, and breaks the halter between 


86 


GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


him and the next donkey. He needs a licking, like I 
gave Omelet.” 

“But licking doesn’t do any good,” Phebe declared 
solemnly. “They don’t even feel it. You could 
break a crow-bar on them without their knowing it, I’m 
certain. I saw Jose thrash Shrimp once till he was out 
of breath, and she just wiggled one ear a little and then 
stepped over to a nice bunch of grass and ate it as calmly 
as if he had been a butterfly. It takes magic, or some¬ 
thing inside your character, / think, to make them 
mind. They don’t like Jose, but they’ll do anything 
for Joe or Ruth or Perdita or me.” 

“Come along up!!! They’re coming!” shrieked Per¬ 
dita, hopping wildly on her high place. 

Emily sprang to her feet, and Phebe tucked her 
dictionary into her pocket and followed. 

“Where? Why didn’t you give the signal?” 

“There, just coming over the pass. Look! That 
must be Red up against the sky, with his ears out 
straight and his big white tarp on. I forgot the signal. 
But no matter. Look, Santa Clara, that’s Red.” 

“Looks like an Irish saint,” commented Clara, 
“blessing the people. There, he’s moving. Who’s the 
next one, wise child?” 

“Must be Buster or Chubby. What Joe sees in those 
old white donkeys is beyond me. They’re always in the 
awkward squad, and yet he chose them for an important 
job like this. See! Chubby’s balking now. Hit him, 
Joe!” She screamed as lustily as though Joe, several 


MIDSUMMER MAIL 


87 

miles away, could hear her. Immediately theNoah’s Ark 
little figure moved forward, and another took his place 
against the sky. They watched till all fifteen had been 
brought over, and then a little later they saw the smoke 
of Joe’s camp-fire at the foot of the pass. They turned 
in early, full of excited anticipation of the morrow. 

Before Ruth had looked for her bugle, a loud braying 
and Joe’s shout had them all awake: 

“Grub and letters, little ladies! Bushels of letters!” 

Only those who have lived two whole months away 
from post or telegraph can appreciate the intense eager¬ 
ness prevailing as Ruth in her huge, gold-embroidered, 
Kabul sheepskin cloak went from bedside to bedside 
distributing the letters. 

The whole day was a hectic one. Chores were done 
casually or forgotten entirely. Ruth and the boys 
found themselves left quite alone at the task of getting 
food out of commercial containers into paraffined bags, 
and then into evenly balanced kyacks: a task which 
would on another day have commanded keenest in¬ 
terest and most ardent assistance. Ruth’s own feeling 
toward a mail-bag had come to be one of shyness 
rather than of eagerness: such a power of shattering 
mountain tranquillity lay therein, such a possibility of 
a jarring contact with the ephemeral and the worrisome. 
“Though,” she confessed to Clara, wondering at the 
pile of unopened letters beside her as she swiftly 
labelled and indexed and tightly tied the food-bags, 
“anything of that sort is compensated for by the sweet- 


88 


GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


ness of the letters one’s real friends write to one out 
here. You escape all the little trivial notes which need 
immediate answers, and really don’t matter at all. 
They only write to you of things that really count. 
When they think of you, they know they can’t reach 
you inside of two or three months, and perhaps not 
then, and they know, too, that you are dwelling in high 
places, where values are clear. So when they do write, 
it is their hearts they dip their pens into, not their ink¬ 
pots. I never feel so close to my beloveds in their 
bodily presences as I do here, sometimes, reading a 
real spirit-to-spirit letter in some enchanted spot. 
That’s another reason for leaving them till the food is 
packed. This bacon needs scraping, Manuel. You 
and Jose must do five or six sides every day till it’s all 
clean, and be sure you keep excelsior between them in 
the kyacks. For instance, Santa Clara,” Ruth went 
on, pushing the letters over with her elbow, her hands 
not ceasing their work, “I see a long, Indian, registered 
envelope sticking out there. That’s from my god¬ 
mother. She and I get on each other’s nerves in the 
flesh, but I know I shall love that letter, and that she 
loved writing it. I’ll read it to you all after supper.” 

When the camp-fire was lighted (larger wood used 
this time, because day after to-morrow they should 
march, and there was enough and to spare), each read 
one letter aloud by the flickering flame. They began 
with Phebe who read, as seriously as if she were giving 
a declamation in public, a merry letter from her father 


MIDSUMMER MAIL 


89 

about a motor-trip across the Colorado desert in his 
Packard. Perdita shared with them a brief, bald note 
from her twin Peter, and Emily contributed a rather 
technical prophecy as to her High School’s football pros¬ 
pects for the coming season. 

Clara selected from her personal bushel a letter 
(which those of you who may have met any of these 
folk “somewhere in Story-books” before, may care to 
read, by others easily omitted). 

“My dear One-Time Contemporary: 

“I hardly know how to write you, now that you have 
escaped from Forty. 

“As I write prescriptions day after day for poor 
frames, giving way at weak points before that fearsome 
foe’s attacks, I am tempted to make them all like the 
one I gave you that May day: 

For Mediaevalitis 

Children.3 or 4 daily, at close quarters 

Spirit of Adventure . . 1 heartful 

Distance from Home . . 1000 miles at least 

Open Skies.24 hours on end daily 

Animals.Enough to know them 

Physical Exertion ... To sweating and aching point 

daily 

Elimination of: 

Duty I 

Routine } Complete. 

Sense of Importance to Anyone Anywhere ) 

Mix well and prayerfully and take daily for three or four 
months. 






90 


GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


“Would any one else have had the courage and the 
wit, and the faith in God and a friend, to take it liter¬ 
ally as you did, I wonder? 

“ Since the first brief announcement of your kidnap¬ 
ping of Perdita I have had no news: a most hopeful 
symptom. 

“I shall not intrude on that new atmosphere with 
elderly chit-chat, only give you a few scraps of news that 
even on Mars might interest you. 

“ Hannah Eldred’s second baby girl is a joyous blue¬ 
eyed Stephanie. 

“My Catherine’s Karl has at last turned up after 
incredible adventures in German prisons, military 
and civil, a physical wreck, but so glad merely to be 
alive, and to be with his family again under non- 
Prussian skies, that life-long invalidism seems as naught 
either to Catherine or to himself. Both learned early, 
you know, to keep our brother the Body in his proper 
place. 

“Alice Prescott is now Alice Evans, one of those 
mature marriages that you are always confident about. 
You can’t distrust Alice’s judgment. 

“Frieda, Hannah writes, has returned to a sort of 
elegant almshouse, for decayed gentlewomen, and is 
devoting herself to reading Kant! I misdoubt it is a 
cloak for Red Bolshevism. 

“Peter and Elsmere are disconsolate without Perdita. 
They feel condemned because she got herself kidnapped 
under their very noses. Without her to guide them 
they are like bombs without dynamite. They affect 
Western manners and clank about the streets in 
spurs, with sombreros and bandannas, but they lack 
spirit. 


MIDSUMMER MAIL 


9 % 

“ Polly Osgood is running the Library this summer, 
making a charming place of it. 

“ Harlow’s greetings with mine to you, dear one. 

“ Affectionately, 
“Helen Smith.” 

“Now for the Himalayan letter,” said Ruth, “to 
resolve us to our own dominant chord again. We shall 
sleep better if we get into mountains once more. That 
motor-trip of your dad’s, Phebe, made my head spin, 
it was so much faster than our sober burro-pace. 

“Dear God-Daughter : 

“What time you dwell in the haunts of men I rarely 
feel moved to write to you. 

“ But now, from these Central Asian heights to your 
American Sierras, there seems to be an open channel for 
thoughts and emotions. 

“We are encamped to-day on a little hill about as high 
as your most skyward peak. Gentle slopes, grassy 
and flowerful, and old valley-curves make the climbing 
so easy that one doubts one’s boiling point thermome¬ 
ter. (Maps of these parts are inadequate.) 

“Everything here is on so huge a scale that I turn in 
thought to your limited and lovely mountains as one 
might turn from a great fresco to a miniature, from a 
360 degree sunset to a butterfly’s wing, from the gardens 
of Paradise to a country wild-rose-tree! 

“I have turned my back on Nanga Parbat this 
minute. For weeks we have stalked her. Moving 
like a nomad tribe, twenty-four pack-ponies, a dozen 
riding-ponies, a host of coolies and ghore-wale, a dzo, a 
Yarkandi dog (with clipped ears like Coupe-Oreille!) 


92 


GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


a dozen sheep, little milch goats in sufficient number to 
yield milk for cocoa for three, twice daily (I leave you to 
calculate!) in the care of a little old black bakri-wala 
who says his prayers picturesquely among the rocks at 
sunset, hens in wicker crates, and a rooster who greets 
the dawn from our high camps as prosaically as he ever 
did from a lowland farmyard, our seven good Ladaki 
servants, sturdy, song-loving, willing, our tents of all 
descriptions, gypsy three-pole for sahibs, old American 
Sibley for caravan bashi, a Lhasa one with a slit for 
ridge for the cook-tent, an old British ridge for the men, 
and none at all for the coolies. 

“Nanga Parbat has been worshipped for many years 
as the star in the jewelled crown of Kashmir. Poets 
have tried to express her; painters throw down their 
brushes before her in despair. Climbers have given 
their lives without getting more than a little way up 
her forbidding, beautiful sides. Summer colonies camp 
where a view, mists permitting, may now and then 
be had of her. 

“And we set out to see her. 

“The first glimpse was from a subsidiary camp, 
16,000 plus, above a pass to which a detachment from 
the main caravan carried bedding, cooking utensils, 
firewood and water. Snow fell in the first half-hour, 
and clouds were thick in the N. P. quarter. Huddled 
over a tiny fire close to a glacier we ate chipattis and 
pilao, and then got into all our blankets on a flat place at 
the edge of a precipice, down which stones leaped 
and bounded at intervals all night. Mists formed and 
dissipated, above us, below us, about us. In the pass, 
five hundred feet below, the varying air currents which 
always beset passes drove the mists in three or four 
different directions at once, one of the directions being 


MIDSUMMER MAIL 


93 

straight up. Near-by peaks became remote and magi¬ 
cal. Commonplace slopes were touched with utter 
beauty, the half-glimpsed fascinating as it always is in 
any field of observation. No sign of Nanga Parbat, 
but the beauty of the mists repaid us for effort and 
discomfort. 

“Night was broken into by involuntary sleep, but 
we were awake to see the full moon burning its way 
through a cloud, as the eastern ridge turned swiftly 
down into its realm of light. And at the earliest crack 
of dawn, we caught our breath with rapture, for in the 
quarter which had been thick with cloud ever since our 
coming, there was visible on the sky, far above the 
cloud, a tiny, infinitely remote triangle, which we knew 
must be Nanga Parbat’s summit. 

“With teeth chattering and toes numb, we beat our 
breasts and waited and waited and waited, for dawn to 
catch that ‘hat of mountain’ before the cloud should 
again envelop it. 

“At last! It came! The light upon it, sheer burning 
radiance, over that wide sea of dull, gray cloud. Noth¬ 
ing else on earth touched yet by light. Below the 
cloud, vertical white walls showed now, presently them¬ 
selves sunlit. 

“We could not, for long, behold it. The gray cloud 
gradually stole up and gradually crept down, till the 
whole quarter was once more as dull as yesterday. 
But we had seen it, and nothing could alter that most 
glorifying fact. So, breakfasted and cheerful, we struck 
camp and made off, by slow stages, to the next point, 
miles away, down a tributary and up the Shingo Valley. 

“A ‘bundobust’ camp had to be made here, on a 
wide river-terrace, near patches of peas and barley (at 
more than 14,000, dear!) with a wee mud village which 


GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


94 

exuded scores of dirt-colored humans with bright, 
dark eyes, good features, and most raucous voices. 

“While Ibrahim made ‘bundobust,’ bargained for 
wood, eggs, goats and carriers, we absented ourselves 
from the gaping populace (I must not omit to say that 
the evil eye, kharab ankh y was cast upon my gorgeously 
caparisoned, my jewel horse, Tomar, in that valley!) 
and climbed straight up through groves of tiny, white 
birch trees, over moraine to crags, and suddenly lifted, 
over the valley walls, Nanga—sharp-cut, defined, 
snow clinging to her terrific precipices, a long jagged 
arrete showing to the west of her. 

“We watched her for hours in full sunlight, new 
spurs developing as the light changed. We lay down 
and looked at her. We tipped our heads upside down 
and looked at her that way, steepening her pitch and 
removing her to greater distances (you know that trick, 
of course?). We went to sleep in her presence and woke 
to find her still there. Such of us as had wind and mus¬ 
cle devoted the night to watching her from the ridge 
itself, by sunset, moonlight, and dawn again. 

“Then—off, all bundobusted, for a nearer view. 

“This was vouchsafed only to the hardiest, from a 
camp on a very summit. All that I got of that camp 
was the joy of watching Khalik and Samat come leap¬ 
ing down the talus slope to the pass, singing ‘the song 
that makes heavy loads light’— 

(“We know,” breathed Perdita, rapturous.) 

“while the caravan coming up from the main camp in 
the valley below, responded in antiphonal fashion, the 
way they love to sing in all these regions. The wind 
from the pass made the effect more interesting. Sketch¬ 
book notes of that night’s vigil hint at ‘white-gold/ 
‘red-gold/ ‘burning gold,’ 


MIDSUMMER MAIL 


95 

“Now, where I write, we are for two days encamped 
full in the face of the glorious mountain. On the march 
here, over the queer, stony plateaus and grassy valleys 
of the Deosai, we had first a flashing view, in which we 
got an effect of great, flowing white folds like the 
garments Giotto painted; then, a most perfectly com¬ 
posed view, framed in long slopes, seen over a little pass 
(as high as Whitney!) and a round sapphire lake, the 
tall hooded larkspur (possibly aconite?) bluer still, thick 
in the green grass beside it. 

“When we had reached camp, mists had begun to 
form on the mountain’s sides, and by the time the tribe 
was all established, she was blotted out completely, 
for all day, as it proved. 

“We made our beds where we could watch for her. 
The sky was clear and starful, but though the low, dark 
hills between us and Nanga showed plainly every time 
I looked, I could see nothing of Nanga herself. In 
fact, I thought I saw Vega and some minor stars actu¬ 
ally in the place where she must be, and I began to 
think of magics. 

“We waited for the moon, an old moon by now. It 
came up over the serrated wall behind us, most weirdly, 
a shrunken, dim, old thing, till suddenly two shiny 
gold horns appeared, and then the rest of the crescent 
holding up the old moon. 

“Even this brightness could not bring Nanga onto 
real visibility. Little by little a dimness appeared 
where she should be, and then the dawn twilight made 
her, little by little, define herself. 

“Cloudless, perfect, she waited for the sun. The 
twilight shadow formed gradually behind her, above 
her, its rosy edge spanning the heavens above the 
mountain, and above the valley down which we gazed 


96 GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 

at her. No Giottesque robes now; sharp angular faces, 
snow-beaten, not snow-heaped. And the eastern face, 
into which we now looked full, appeared a cirque, 
black-shadowed. 

“The sun’s first burning touch! Only music could 
interpret that. Color came and went before a painter 
could have turned to his palette: faintest mauve, a 
sudden gold like the gold into which I had breathed 
last night’s white ashes for a moment. At one instant a 
long, even line was drawn along the whole ten miles 
of face, with a purplish shadow below. This, says my 
lord, was the shadow of the outer rim of the Deosai 
flung there. 

“For the emotions of such a watching (this time from 
sufficient blankets, and in a merciful temperature!), 
I can turn to you, my mountain child, for sympathy. 

“Think! You have, from far out in the desert, seen 
San Jacinto’s vertical eleven thousand feet. Imagine 
the whole region lifted up until your station in the 
desert was a thousand feet higher than the top of Split— 
and then all the desert between you and San Jacinto 
dropped five or six thousand feet! 

“This sight, which we would have willingly given a 
year of our joyous lives to see, is seen by no one. Only 
marmots inhabit these plains. The few passers on the 
trail march with eyes directed to the dust. From the 
village of four houses a couple of miles below our camp, 
the mountain is entirely invisible. 

“‘What is man that Thou art mindful of him, Lord 
God Jehovah, Dweller in the High Places?’ 

“Your Godmother. 

“P.S. Sunset. The mountain kept the light long 
after we had lost it. The whole mass became transluc- 


MIDSUMMER MAIL 


97 


ent, lifted, buoyed up to immense remote heights, a 
body of cloud separating it from the dark, near hills, 
so that it seemed to be in another sphere than ours. 
Its outlines now are clear, with a halo—of blowing 
snow? Of mist? perhaps of sheer light. It is a Mount 
of Transfiguration. And to-morrow there will be 
another dawn.” 


CHAPTER XII 


TO THE WHITE POLEMONIUM 

P, WHILE the stars were still in the sky, “at five 



u o’clock in the night” as a marvelling late-riser 
had once said of Three-Corner Round awakenings. 
All packers must rise early on the day of the march, 
but to some dull souls that privilege is no privilege. 
All Three-Corner Rounders, once acclimatized, love 
the dawn for its own sake. Naps in the middle of the 
day, or bed as soon as the sun’s last touch has left the 
sky, give hours a-plenty for sleeping. There is an en¬ 
chantment in the hour before the dawn, and in the dawn 
itself, which no other hour of the whole circuit pos¬ 
sesses. That is, of course, when one is speaking to 
dwellers “a la belle etoile,” not to housebodies, who see 
overhead when they wake only papered ceilings! 

Breakfasting, bringing in the little burros, frisky 
after a whole week’s running, saddling, packing, clean¬ 
ing the camp so that only the blackened fireplace and 
the tidy wood-pile should show that any one had ever 
camped there, putting up a big lunch, for the march 
was to be a long one—and they were off when the sun 
had only just come over the eastern arrete! 

Down the long, steep talus to where the first trees (or 


TO THE WHITE POLEMONIUM 


99 


the last, as you look at it!) grew, white-bark pine again, 
here, for this was a true above-timber-line camp. The 
great yellow pines with boughs big enough for an or¬ 
dinary tree-trunk, the tall sugar-pines with graceful 
lines and long, slender cones, the fine old firs, the white 
with its bark of most exquisite shades, and the red, with 
its great, deep purple shafts, were all left behind now, 
at lower altitudes. From now on they were to see 
more and more the uninteresting little lodge-pole pine, 
with its needles in bunches of two, and the white-bark, 
whose first, thick, impenetrable mats they had met just 
before High Camp. An occasional fir or juniper was 
still to be found on their marches, and when they were 
to get high enough they were to find the loveliest of all 
the Pacific conifers, the mountain hemlock, dainty as a 
larch. They had been studying “the tree book” in 
those days of leisure, and were keen to identify the 
trees as they came to them. 

The trail led down through that first little grove to 
the side of Rosamund Lake, blue and sparkling. There 
they paused for a bath. The cold, shivering dawn, 
however poetic, is not a fit time for extended ablutions, 
and old, experienced travellers are inclined to bathe 
toward noonday. Even at midday, High Sierran lakes 
are most uninvitingly cold. And the breeze has a most 
impish tendency to spring up just as the bather emerges 
from the waters into the sun-lighted but deceptive air! 

On again, through taller woods, in the dark depths of 
which Phebe rejoiced over her first sight of the red 


100 


GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


cousin of Indian pipe, absurdly known as “snow- 
flower.” A most uncanny plant, leafless, blood-red, 
starting up in the shadows of the forest, tall, close- 
packed bracts and blossoms all red on a red stem. 

“I think somebody was murdered here,” declared 
Perdita solemnly, “and this is a sign. I wouldn’t touch 
it for anything.” 

“Just as well you feel that way,” laughed Ruth. 
“It’s protected by law nowadays, so many vandals and 
goths and huns have rooted it up to carry it home and 
show.” 

“Amazing,” sighed Clara. “You wonder that such 
folk don’t nip off the heads of pretty children they see 
on their walks in the parks, for souvenirs. Hark! 
What was that?” 

The sound of horses’ hoofs came to them. It was 
startling, for in all those weeks they had met not one 
pack-train, and had seen only one horse-man, a cow¬ 
boy, they conjectured, at a long distance. Their own 
little unmarked trail just here crossed one of the Forest 
Service trails, and, just as they reached the crossing, 
three riders and a pack-horse or two came up. 

The excitement on both sides was intense. The girls 
were thrilled to their toes at the sight of three men, 
one obviously a packer, the other two city-dwellers, 
unshaven and disreputable-looking. And the men, on 
their part, who had congratulated themselves on getting 
away from civilization entirely at last, after crossing 
Seldon Pass, were smitten speechless by the sight of five 


TO THE WHITE POLEMONIUM ioi 

women strolling through the woods, without knapsacks 
or escort. 

Ruth tossed a careless “Good Morning!" to them, 
and went serenely on. She knew they might be delight¬ 
ful folk, whom she would find most congenial in town, 
but she was sure that now they had nothing to interest 
her, and that she could not interest them. 

The men stared, and replied, with automatic gestures 
toward their hats. The girls, following Ruth's lead, 
went silently by, in spite of their suppressed excite¬ 
ment. As the last figure crossed the road one of the 
men shouted: “Where are you from? Where are you 
going?" 

The silence of the wood answered him, as the last 
golden-green cape lost itself in the shadowy spaces, but 
from the direction from which the marvel had appeared, 
there now emerged an apparently endless string of 
little asses, tidily packed, following neatly. The travel¬ 
lers watched, intensely curious. At the end of the train 
came a tall, dark-faced man with a long stick in his hand. 
The inquisitive one shouted this question again: 
“Where you from? Where you going?" 

Unsmiling, Joe pointed back over his shoulder. Then 
as gravely pointed ahead. And passed on. 

And those travellers went their way, mystified 
entirely, not quite certain, as they tore open parcels of 
sweet chocolate and strewed the papers on the holy 
forest paths, whether they had seen with their earthly 
eyes, or with some new sense of the forest. 


102 


GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


The girls, in spite of their momentary thrill, almost 
immediately forgot the little episode. The spell of 
the wood was upon them. After the sheer, bare sun of 
their high granite camp, the darkness, and the softness 
of the loam underfoot, the soft stirrings in the leaves, the 
fragrances, the scurrying of little creatures, the song 
and sudden flight of birds—wren and bluebird, sugges¬ 
tive of home verandas, at these great altitudes!—the 
crossing of streams on stepping-stones, everywhere the 
flowers, larkspur and wild cyclamen by the stream-side, 
a tall pink forget-me-not-like thing in an open glade, 
compositae of all sorts springing everywhere—the slow 
pace, the sense of peace and serenity: who can put into 
words a march like that, or a spell like that? 

Clara, who had shared the excitement of the girls at 
seeing “humans,” was interested to see how naturally 
even Perdita had accepted Ruth’s manner of treating 
the incident as if it had not existed. 

“I’m afraid I should have felt obliged to stop and 
chat with them,” she meditated, “and they might have 
given us a newspaper full of headlines, and they would 
have asked stupid, impertinent questions, not because 
they were stupid or impertinent necessarily, but because 
all first human contact seems to develop such qualities 
in any of us. Now Ruth wished them a ‘Good 
Morning,’ but she did not stay to let them spoil her 
morning, nor to spoil theirs. I no more feel that I 
know her than I feel that I know a tree, but I admire 
her, and love to observe her as I love to observe trees 


TO THE WHITE POLEMONIUM 103 

and their ilk. I wonder if she’s not really a dryad? 
Imagine! A dryad in 19— something or other. One’s 
not even sure of the year out here.” 

The trail led out of the wood, through which it had 
climbed for an hour or more, into an open region, and 
presently zigzagged down a series of rather exciting 
ledges to the side of a swift river. The girls waited 
on the ledges to help with the donkeys if need were. 
There were one or two rather ticklish points, and the 
little creatures had to be coaxed or driven, one by one, 
around a nose which appeared to them to be the prob¬ 
able end of everything, into a safe recess where, received 
by friends, they had once again to be stimulated down¬ 
ward. 

The river-side reached, there was a long, slow climb 
up along its edge in thinner timber. 

They came out at last into a wide valley, in which 
their stream, which had just been so swift, took to 
meandering. Huge, glaciated boulders loomed ahead, 
and Ruth led the way into a nook surrounded by them 
on all sides, a grassy nook, which would have served for 
a bower for Lorna Doone, or for a robbers’ stronghold. 

The sun, which had shone for twelve hours every day 
all summer, suddenly disappeared behind huge, black 
thunder-clouds, which roared as with triumph at having 
thus engulfed him, flashing long, jagged banners. 

Every one flew into action, roused thoroughly out of 
the walking dream of the past few hours. Stretching 
the picket-lines, hobbling donkeys, whipping off* packs, 


io 4 GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 

covering them with tarpaulins, gathering wood, mend¬ 
ing the fallen-down fireplace, rushing up the seldom- 
used big tents, hurrying egg and butter packs to the 
refrigerator, the snowbank which was always to be 
found on a north slope near camp. 

The first big drops were falling before the work was 
done, and the girls welcomed the big tents, which had 
scarcely been put up once in the whole course of the 
summer. In towns, Thunder seems like an outsider, 
rumbling threats, which are probably meaningless, but 
in the high mountains, Thunder and Lightning are at 
home, and you are the outsider, feeling very small and 
unimportant. 

“If we all got killed, it wouldn’t matter very much 
to the mountains,” Phebe phrased this, squeezing her¬ 
self into the tent gladly. 

After the first slow drops came the deluge. Joe’s 
fire kept going in spite of it, getting a bit low at mo¬ 
ments, but coming up again in spurts, the flames from 
the resinous pine-wood refusing to be quenched. 

It was cozy inside the green linen gypsy tent. Emer¬ 
gency rations of sweet chocolate, biscuit, and pickles, 
an old college combination of Clara’s, were served. 
There was a fine floor of green turf and, fortunately, 
the boys had finished ditching around it before the 
flood started. The pounding on the canvas was deafen¬ 
ing, but they all liked it. They liked the dimness, 
and the sense of waiting for something strange and 
sinister to pass. 


TO THE WHITE POLEMONIUM 105 

Joe and the boys, with coat-collars turned up and 
hat-brims turned down, loosened bell-clappers, and 
turned the wretched little donkeys out. They didn’t 
want to go. Instead of scampering gayly out, or rolling, 
with the glee of release, as was their custom, they slunk 
near the tents, to the peril of the guy-ropes, or simply 
stood, patient and dejected, ears drooping, tails between 
their legs. 

Ruth, in full rain-rig, sloshed about the camp, en¬ 
joying the storm to the full. Presently she stuck her 
sou’westered head in at the tent-door. 

“Come on out, you scared-kittens! It’s clearing. 
The sunset lights on the breaking storm-clouds will be 
something to describe to your grandchildren.” 

They crawled out, stiff in unaccustomed slickers and 
rubber boots, and stared with delight at the great ragged 
cloud banks, like tattered banners of an army after 
battle, turning dark blue, lapis lazuli, then for an instant 
blazing gold, then a faint shell pink, deepening into 
rose, and fading altogether into colorlessness as Venus, 
very bright, shone suddenly out in a clear space above 
where the sun had set. 

“We’re likely to have a swift sharp shower like this 
every day now for a week or two,” said Ruth. “We’ll 
have to make earlier starts to try to make camp easily 
before the shower begins. Often they come about mid¬ 
day, and then the sun shines out and dries everything 
instantly. None of your sodden New England rains, 
all day and all night and the next two days.” 


106 GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 

“Look!” cried Clara, “that can’t be moonlight up 
there on that high peak over there, the one that looks 
like a ship’s prow? Where is the moon?” 

“No, it’s snow gleaming. Up there the rain was 
snow. That’s Seven Gables, where I’m going to¬ 
morrow to look for white polemonium. Godmother 
wants me to send her some seeds for the Himalayas. 
I’ve planted her edelweiss up there, too, and a lovely 
little blue star flower she sent me, and I must see how 
they are getting on.” 

“What is white polemonium like?” 

“Well, polemonium is the most beautiful flower of 
the Sierras, selon moi. It’s usually blue, a most ex¬ 
quisite, delicate shade. It never grows under twelve 
thousand feet, but there it’s often quite abundant, 
when nothing else is in sight, even above the ledges 
where the Sierra pink primrose grows. It grows in a 
tall spike like a hyacinth, but every flower of it is dainty 
and poised, not like a solid old hyacinth. The leaves 
are a tiny close spiral of green, like John Muir’s hor- 
kelia you found, Emily. I’ve not seen the white one 
except on Seven Gables. Its white is as lovely as the 
other’s blue. It has a pearly lustre—O beautiful! I 
can hardly wait till morning to climb up and find it 
again.” 

“O, see, see!” and “O see, see!” came simultaneously 
from Emily and Perdita, but they were pointing in 
opposite directions. Emily had turned back toward the 
great rocks behind the camp and was pointing out on 


TO THE WHITE POLEMONIUM 


107 

the very top of the loftiest, outlined against the evening 
sky, the whole little goat tribe, Omelet, Mary Louise, 
Evelyn, and Sugar-Plum, their neat little horns, 
straight, curled, or crumpled, and their funny little 
pollarded tails, showing so plainly that “you could cut 
them out like paper-dolls,” Phebe declared. “And 
how will we ever catch them to milk them?” moaned 
Emily. 

Perdita’s tamasha was in the opposite direction: an 
apparently infinite number of sheep swarming down 
the mountain-side across the valley, leaping down 
slopes which seemed to the onlookers to be vertical. The 
deep boom of the Basque bell was heard now and then, 
and the light of the shepherd’s fire flared up presently. 

“We’ll call on him to-morrow, if he’s still there,” said 
Ruth. “He may be the lonely chap who made the 
list of ‘Spanish Cityis.”’ 

They did call on him the next day, and Ruth’s gentle 
Spanish won from him a half sheep, in exchange for 
which he accepted a bag of oranges and dates—the 
sweet, melting Khadrawi which the wealthy Arab gives 
to honored guests, and the plainer dry date. He twirled 
his moustaches and smiled bravely under the surprising 
impact of such a visit. He was driving his many 
sheep down valley that day, having kept them above as 
long as the Forest Service will allow any band of 
“hoofed locusts” to stay in one spot. The girls en¬ 
joyed seeing his U-shaped fire-iron, and the one pot 
which did all his cooking. His bread, he told Ruth, 


108 GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 

was baked by the padron in a great stone oven, just over 
the pass, and loaves of it were brought him two or three 
times a season. 

They climbed up Seven Gables slowly, evenly, as 
Ruth had by this time trained all her little band, even 
impetuous Perdita, to climb; Ruth leading and making 
long gradual zigzags, stepping on the side of the foot, 
instead of pointing the toe upward, never hastening, 
never stopping for breath. They reached the top 
unspent, keen to look about them, from the greatest 
height, yet, of their travels. 

Perdita walked straight out on the very edge of the 
cliff, with a sheer fall of two thousand feet below her. 
Phebe and Emily crept close to the edge and peered 
over, seeing far, far below, a tiny hidden lake, behind 
a moraine, a little lake seen usually by none but the 
eagle flying over. But Ruth and Clara paid heed to 
nothing save their quest of polemonium. Among the 
bare rocks they found it, first the blue, then the white. 
There on the shattered top of the peak, among the great 
blocks which looked as though Titans had broken them 
in idle play, were the beautiful pearly spikes, worth 
climbing far to see, unforgettable when once gravely 
regarded. The lack of fragrance, common to Alpine 
flowers, disappointed Clara at first, but when she heard 
a whirring over her head and saw her first high-altitude 
humming-bird, “a whir of evanescence” disregarding 
human presences, hover above the flower, thrusting its 
long bill deep into each slim vase for the Alpine honey, 


TO THE WHITE POLEMONIUM 109 

sweeter and more abundant than is ever found by his 
lowland brother, she forgot her regret. 

Most of the Himalayan seeds, planted carefully the 
year before in locations approximating as closely as 
possible to those in which they had been found, had 
survived the winter, and had something to show for 
themselves, to Gardener Ruth’s deep satisfaction. The 
girls left their dizzy edges to admire them, to help 
Ruth collect seeds of the precious polemonium, and 
then to eat with gusto the lunch which had made their 
knapsacks a trifle heavy on the climb up. 

The shower Ruth had predicted as a daily occurrence 
announced itself long enough ahead to permit of their 
reaching camp before it broke. 

Coming home to a camp is an entirely different matter 
from coming into a new camp, even though it be but a 
night that has already been spent there. Ruth and 
Joe had agreed that a day of rest all around was desira¬ 
ble, before starting up the valley to Odo’s Pass. That 
Pass was one of the annual critical points of the expedi¬ 
tion, and Ruth wanted no girls, stiff or weary from 
unwonted climbing, when she faced it. So they came 
into camp, feeling that they had been brought up in 
that rocky bower, and were like to spend long years 
there. They always arranged their belongings with as 
much care as though the canvas walls were stone and 
plaster, and their two or three day tenure were a ninety- 
nine year lease. The camp was most homelike—but: 

“It’s the gypsy feet we’re growing,” sighed Clara, 


no 


GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


getting out of her hobnailed boots and into soft moc¬ 
casins. “Ruth, my dear, I’m so in love with this camp 
that I could write lyrics about it, if it weren’t so near 
to supper-time. But honestly, if I didn’t know that we 
should move on in a day or so, I should feel a restless 
tingling! Each camp is so perfect that you immedi¬ 
ately conceive, after having apprehended its perfections, 
a passionate desire to behold the next!” 


CHAPTER XIII 


THE CREST AND A STORY 

T WO days after the white polemonium climb, the 
outfit moved on, up the valley. A wild, glaciated 
valley it was, with two or three lakes behind moraines, 
besides that hidden one revealed from Seven Gables. 
There was no proper trail here. The shepherds had put 
a few “ducks” here and there, and the Three-Corner 
Round had a traditional way of winding among the 
great roches moutonnees up to the lake at the head of the 
valley. Here, if rain had threatened, they must have 
camped, but the sky was clear and they undertook to 
push on. 

They turned east, climbing a series of great, bare 
ledges, sloping rather steeply. This was the way to 
one of their very own passes. A pass is usually in¬ 
dicated on a map, and, besides, shows itself on the sky¬ 
line, from afar, as a pass, a reasonable, natural way over 
a wall, or rather through a wall, an unmistakable gap. 
But this pass none but this particular outfit would have 
recognized as such. Above those sloping ledges, above 
fallen blocks as big as churches, came steep scree, then a 
slope too steep for scree to lie on, practically vertical, rear¬ 
ing its head in a defiant attitude. There was the pass. 


hi 


112 GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 

There had been flower-gathering, elephant’s heads 
like fairy favors, pink and white-striped, and yellow 
violets, and loitering, in the early part of the march, 
but as the climb up the ledges began, all hands were im¬ 
pressed into service. Ruth ordered the opening of two 
of the precious bottles of grape-juice, and advised the 
cramming of hard-tack into pockets, because crossing 
this pass was serious business, and there might be no 
more food that day. She sent Jose and Emily up ahead, 
to be ready to receive the donkeys when they should be 
got over. Joe took the steepest stretch for his particu¬ 
lar charge. Manuel and Perdita and Ruth and Clara 
drove, coaxed, and enticed the donkeys up over the 
ledges into the region of the great scree. There was 
danger there, from the sliding rocks above, for any one 
below, so Phebe and Clara were stationed to guard the 
back trail at this point, and Manuel and Ruth and 
Perdita took turns leading the donkeys, one at a time, 
up to the point where Joe could take them in hand, 
dodging behind a great block to wait till it was 
safe to dash back for another. No one but Joe could 
persuade the more timid donkeys up that steep scree 
which moved down under the ascending hoofs like a 
treadmill. But Joe’s patience, quietness, sympathy, 
and firmness always prevailed and in the end little 
nervous Harlequin, and faint-heart, wishful Pat came 
along almost as calmly as reckless Shrimp and her 
family, or blase old Tom and Applesauce Cake. 

Still, it was a matter for personal and individual at- 


THE CREST AND A STORY 


113 

tention, and a slow business at the best. The dainty- 
little nannies ran lightly, noiselessly up, exuberantly 
going on to the top of the cliff above the pass, looking 
calmly down, on sweating humans and straining asses. 

As each donkey was squeezed over the top, Jose and 
Emily received him and fastened him into his proper 
place in the lines, which they had stretched. Their 
troubles were not all over. They must camp in their 
tracks, with a day of work ahead, for on the farther side 
of the pass was a wicked drop over a ledge, which could 
be safely negotiated only by the use of block and tackle. 
Most of the Three-Corner Round trails had been so 
ameliorated by dynamite since Ruth had feminized the 
outfit, that the block and tackle, constant stand-by in the 
early days, source of legend throughout the mountains, 
was now necessary nowhere but here. But for tradi¬ 
tion’s sake, and the thrill of the thing, a heavy top-pack 
was carried year after year, ready for this one descent. 

The wind blew a gale, but Clara made a kitchen in a 
sheltered spot, made coffee for Joe and herself, and 
chocolate for the rest, and served huge sandwiches of 
brown bread and fresh Holland cheese, all around. 
Then in the faint light of Venus, beds were unrolled, 
on bedsites preserved from year to year, and with feet 
into the wind, and heads (even Ruth’s) fairly well 
under cover, they slept the sleep of the adventurous. 

Next morning was as absorbing as any circus could 
ever hope to be. To assist at the rigging of the ropes, 
to bring a donkey up, fasten the harness about him, 


11 4 GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS ' 

then start him down over that wicked ledge, watch 
him, if clever, get himself tidily down without drawing 
the rope taut in Joe’s strong grasp, watch him, if 
average, hesitate, draw back, prick up ears, creep 
gingerly out to the edge, and then scramble more or 
less clumsily down, leaning somewhat on the rope, 
watch him, if of the “ awkward squad,” lunge, plunge, 
turn upside down and wrong end to, with Joe holding 
for dear life, and the boys easing off, hauling in slack, 
making fast, and performing a lot of other nautical 
operations at once, was quite as good as any clown- 
and-spangled-rider-show that ever spread canvas. 

There was camp in a lovely valley that night, in view 
of slender minarets and pinnacles unlike anything they 
had seen, by a blue, blue lake, which looked to be at the 
world’s end, its waters leaving it at an edge which 
seemed to give on sheer space. 

After that the way lay fair and easy by patches of 
scarlet painted cup, everlasting, and rose-like yellow 
cinquefoil up to that shoulder of Humphreys, great 
and red, which they had seen now from various points, 
and which should mark ultimate achievement for them 
—the Crest at last. 

They were all very keen for that consummation. 
For two months and more they had been slowly, stead¬ 
ily climbing, always a little up, moving at the same 
time inchwise eastward. From high camps they had 
seen the long crest-line from afar, tiny saw-tooth peaks, 
made diaphanous and translucent in sunrise. In valley 


THE CREST AND A STORY 


115 

camps they had forgotten for awhile the heights they 
could not see. But now no one was willing to stop an 
unnecessary night. They must push on to the ulti¬ 
mate camp of camps, whence they might look back 
and see the width of the Range behind them. 

Late in the afternoon they did arrive. In the late 
light the Inyo Mountains, across the long, narrow valley 
at their feet, showed all the soft hues and contours of a 
dove’s breast. A tiny green ribbon in the valley 
bottom marked the course of the invisible river, all the 
way down to the silver-shored, blue lake, miles away to 
the south. 

It was cold, on the very edge of the crest, and they 
huddled cozily behind a great piece of “ broken moun¬ 
tain,” as Joe called it, eating their supper there by a 
little camp-fire of wood brought by the boys on the 
backs of a string of donkeys. For, having at last ar¬ 
rived, they would not quickly move on. This must 
be a camp of days. 

“Tell us a story,” begged Emily from a blanket 
cocoon in which she had rolled herself, when the after- 
dinner chocolate had been drunk. “We’ve been going 
to bed so early night after night, but now we’re here, 
we could sleep late once, couldn’t we? And have a real 
story, please, Chieftaine, Chieftaine dear?” 

“A story,” mused Ruth. “Those mountains over 
there set my head whirling with stories. They are 
ages older than ours, you see. Archaean rock you 
looked out on over there: none older showing on old 


n6 GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


Earth’s surface anywhere, as I understand it. And 
the valley is full of black lava stretches and red cinder 
cones, and there are marks of great faults. And the 
precious things that are hidden in the Inyos! The 
Sierras have gold, I know, but the Inyos have all sort 
of ores, silver, lead, tungsten. I’m always expecting 
to hear that some old prospector will turn up a great 
field of Carnotite in there some day and make radium 
as cheap as borax or other common, useful things they 
mine in there now. 

“I never see the valley without a feeling of the ro¬ 
mance and peril of the mining that goes on in those 
desert mountains. You get echoes of it in the valley 
itself. There! That’s the story for here and now: 
The Story of My Prospector!” 

Emily cooed with pleasure, and Phebe and Perdita 
made themselves more comfortable. 

“That’s wise. When the story was told to me, it 
took a whole night. I wish I could repeat it as I heard 
it, but you’ll have to take a denatured translation, alas! 

“I had to go down to Los one night suddenly, even 
though it was not the night when there is a sleeping- 
car on the train. I drove down to Lone Pine to take 
the train. (Lone Pine considers itself highly metro¬ 
politan because it has a broad-gauge line, and its trains 
run every day, instead of three times a week as the nar¬ 
row-gauge trains do, up valley.) 

“I expected to sit up all night, or to get what naps 
I could, curled up on a hard velvet seat. I was making 


THE CREST AND A STORY 117 

a good deal of fuss getting settled, turning about, the 
way a dog does, when I heard a rather pleasant voice 
say: ‘Since I had my accident I ain’t been able to sleep 
without a pillow. The place where my cheek-bone 
was broke has a hole in it yet, and it’s tender.’ 

“That was startling enough. I looked across the 
aisle and saw a woman, plainly spoiling to talk. I had 
rather important work in town next day, and I didn’t 
feel enthusiastic. Never do when people talk about 
ailments, but there was a cheerfulness in that remark 
about the hole in her cheek that made me think of the 
kind of little boy who asks you if you don’t want to see 
his sore, instead of the people who tell you about their 
blood-pressures. But whether I looked encouraging 
or not didn’t matter much. She had to talk. And no 
wonder, with a tale like that. 

“In a half-hour I was not only sitting up, but leaning 
across the aisle, putting my ear fairly into her face to 
catch every word over the noise of that rattling, banging 
train. She had a bad cold and I caught it, and knew I 
was catching it, and it lasted a fortnight, but I never 
regretted it. I had to get that story. 

“This is the wrong way to begin to repeat it, because, 
of course, I can’t possibly make it sound a tenth part as 
thrilling as it really was. In the first place, she was 
giving it to me first-hand, and in the second place her 
language was part of the tale itself. I tried to learn 
phrases by heart, but they simply wouldn’t stick. 
I gave up all my work the next day and tried to write it 


118 GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 

down, but I failed: the words eluded me every time, and 
the ideas and facts translated themselves into stupid, 
ordinary English of my own. 

‘‘It’s only the facts I can give you, and I shall have 
to give them in the order of their happening, too, while 
she simply started in as though I knew them all, and I 
had to snatch and hold clues breathlessly, waiting to 
see what they sprang from or led to. 

“She was born on a ranch in Montana; knew how to 
ride, and shoot, and butcher cattle. Married an 
assayer and together they prospected. They travelled 
up and down the mountains, following veins, her hus¬ 
band understanding the chemistry and mineralogy, 
but she appeared to develop a kind of instinct for it, 
seemed to smell the ores. They made lucky strikes. 
They were swindled by partners sometimes. Some¬ 
times their finds proved too expensive to work—all 
that sort of thing happened, of course. But it was the 
fun of the game that they liked, I gathered. 

“Once her husband was taken ill, and she set out 
alone across Death Valley in summer with the two tiny 
boys, one four and the other eight, driving a team of 
mules, to get to him. The mules were stolen the first 
night out by the man she had hired to drive them. He 
stole most of the food, too. She blamed herself for 
letting it happen, but he was supposed to be a friend of 
her husband's, and she said she honestly did not think 
of his robbing babes! 

“She went on, on foot—that place is a fiery furnace in 


THE CREST AND A STORY 


119 

summer—you should hear city-bred people talk about 
the perils of Death Valley! On her back she carried a 
small frying-pan, a sack of flour, and a piece of bacon, 
all that the thief had left her. There was a one-gallon 
canteen, too. She cooked, three times a day—the 
frying-pan full of ‘dough-gods/ a thick cake of flour with 
the smallest possible amount of water, three strips of 
bacon cooked into it on the under-side. The gallon 
of water she doled out in sips. She filled it every 
morning at the water-hole she had to get to each day 
before she could safely stop. In desert air your palate 
is feverish, you’ll find. It’s not true thirst. You 
feel as though you would die if you couldn’t drink. 
Your tongue seems to swell, and your mouth to be 
parched. I’ve seen town girls make perfect idiots of 
themselves over the misery of going without water for a 
few hours. If water is plentiful, one person can drink 
more than a gallon, without noticing it, in a day. 
For those children it must have been truly terrible to 
get on with sips of the tepid or even hot stuff. She 
said the smaller boy did cry once! They were a week 
getting across. 

“ Sometimes she had come up from Mojave, where the 
railroad ended in those days, by stage-coach. She 
said the driver used to wear gold double-eagles for coat- 
buttons, eagles on his vest, and five-dollar gold-pieces 
for sleeve-buttons. He drove eight horses at once, 
all but the two leaders broncos. When the passengers 
were all seated, the horses would be hooked in, and the 


120 


GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


coach would reel off, quite as often on one wheel as on 
four. Once she was sitting on the box with her two 
babies in her lap. The driver was mad drunk, and the 
coach swayed so that she could barely hold on. Under 
the seat there was a box holding the mail-sacks, two big 
canvas sacks, not locked. She opened the box and 
thrust one baby into one bag, the other into the other. 
The drunken driver yelled at her: ‘That's Uncle Sam’s 
mail-bag!’ And she yelled back: ‘He’s as much my 
uncle as he is yours!’ 

“After her husband died—she told me a weird tale 
of his lying deathly ill in a shack where rats ran over the 
floor, and of strange ghost noises that were heard in the 
night and frightened every one away, so that she had 
to take all the care of him herself: noises made by a 
rival claimant for his mine, probably—after he died, 
she went on prospecting. She located one very desira¬ 
ble mine on the very top of one of those dove-breast 
mountains over there. She staked out her claim to the 
mine, and included the one spring of water in those 
regions. 

“According to law she had to do a certain amount of 
work on the claim each year to hold it. She had prac¬ 
tically no capital, of course, and there were very few 
people she could trust. She used to camp up there 
part of each year and supervise the work herself. When 
she was ready to go down for the winter, she would bury 
all her camp equipment. 

“The law had a most unreasonable requirement in 


THE CREST AND A STORY 


121 


those days: on January first, or rather at midnight of 
December 31st, certain papers had to be filed on the 
claim itself, and also at the county-seat. I suppose 
some neat-minded legislator thought that meant posting 
the papers in the village post-office. He didn’t reckon 
with mountain conditions. The snow, here where 
we are now, gets to be fifty feet deep in midwinter, and 
it is deep enough to be trying over there, though the 
altitudes aren’t quite so great, and the air is drier. 

“A big mining company had got wind of my pros¬ 
pector’s claim. They staked out a claim completely 
surrounding hers, so that she could reach hers only by 
stepping on their land. They tried to buy her claim 
and when she refused to sell, set in cold-bloodedly to 
get her out of the way. She understood. There was 
nothing sinister possible that she didn’t understand. 
She made my blood congeal with passing references 
of things she had known, when she served for a bit as 
‘Government woman’ —Intelligence service, I gathered 
—it had to do with dictaphones and the like.” (Here 
Phebe shuddered, delightedly.) 

“Just about Christmas that year, she got word by 
mysterious, timid, but accurate channels, that the rival 
company had driven off the field the men she had sent 
up to file those papers. She set out at once for the 
mine. At the last village in the foothills, an old- 
timer got her secretly into an inner room without win¬ 
dows, and there whispered: ‘ Don’t you go there. Don’t 
you buck the company.’ But she went, taking with 


122 


GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


her an old half-breed. Not another man would go 
with her, though they all liked her, and had known her 
for years. It was plain that the company meant busi¬ 
ness, and whom they had not been able to hire they 
had frightened. 

“She reached the top late in the afternoon of Decem¬ 
ber 31st. There she found a large encampment of 
company men. They welcomed her cordially, and 
invited her to eat with them. She did so, and swapped 
yarns with them a bit after supper. 

“Later on, she and her old man slipped quietly out, 
and made a long circuit of the mountain-top. They 
got to the place where the papers were to be filed— 
you mustn’t expect anything approaching accuracy 
from me: she assumed that I understood all the pro¬ 
cedure, and I wouldn’t have broken the spell by a 
question for the world. The old man stationed her in a 
little hollow just over the edge of the hill from the 
company’s camp, the shortest way up. He built a 
fire a good way off, on the other side of the pillar-box 
which I conceive those papers to be filed in! He told 
her to keep an eye on him, and if he got up and began 
moving around the fire, to ‘watch out.’ 

“She lay there in the cold, waiting, keeping her eye 
on the fire. Presently she saw the old man get up and 
move about as though he were putting more wood on 
the fire. She turned instantly toward the camp. A 
man’s head appeared over the edge of the hollow. And 
her pistol stuck in the holster! His whole figure loomed 


THE CREST AND A STORY 


123 

up. She was a little late, but he dropped behind the 
crest. After she had got her papers in properly at 
the stroke of midnight, she strolled over to the point at 
which her man had disappeared. She found a hat with 
some bloody hair sticking to it. 

“Next day, as she passed through the company’s 
camp, she saw one man with a bandage showing a wee 
bit below his cap. She studied his face, without appear¬ 
ing to notice him at all. She recognized him for a 
notorious gun-man of Los Angeles, often hired to do 
dirty work. I think one reason she was so determined 
to fight the thing through was that she despised the 
impersonal ‘company’ which never showed its own head 
or risked its own bones, but depended on hirelings to 
accomplish all its wicked ends. I really didn’t believe 
such villainies were true-” 

“Are you sure they are ? ” asked Perdita. “Honestly, 
Chieftaine, this tale of yours makes me think of the 
Big Red Ruby.” 

“It may be fiction for all I can prove,” Ruth replied, 
“but I absolutely believe every word that woman told 
me. As dawn came on after that night of our talk, 
she lapsed into more ordinary talk, about her children’s 
education, and recipes and religion, and she talked in 
just the same language and in just the same manner: it 
was wholly convincing. You can look the case up in 
the court-house when you go through Independence on 
your way home if you like, child, but if it’s not true, 
don’t tell me. I love this tale!” 



124 GIRLS in the high sierras 

“So do we!” declared the others in chorus. “Do go 
on! We haven’t heard about her accident yet, and 
now you say there is a law-suit coming.” 

“Stick a lot more wood on that fire then, somebody. 
Well, the next year she went up again, the same filing 
thing to be done once more. This time she met with a 
great deal of discouragement in that foothill village. 
Friends gave warnings, and no one would go with her. 
Men and horses were all mysteriously engaged. The 
more they put difficulties in her way the more set she 
was on going, of course. At last she offered five hun¬ 
dred dollars a night for a man, and two big huskies 
agreed. She got a donkey from somebody at a ruinous 
price, but after all, she arrived too late. It was early 
in the morning of New Year’s Day before she got to her 
claim. She had made a long detour to avoid the com¬ 
pany’s camp. From a sheltered spot, lying on her 
stomach, she reconnoitered. A cabin had been built 
on her property. She knew that the company papers 
were lying in the box, and that her own were not, and 
that without doubt messengers were on their way to 
Independence to file the copies there. 

“She lay there feeling pretty sick and helpless. 
Presently one man came out of the cabin and went to 
the spring with two big buckets. Another came, out 
and went to a wood-pile and began chopping. Now 
was her chance. She beckoned her huskies to follow 
and walked into the cabin. 

“One man alone was there, cooking bacon. She 


THE CREST AND A STORY 


125 

covered him with her pistol, and he threw both hands 
up, the bacon-grease running down his sleeve. She 
marched him to the side of the room, kept him covered, 
and waited for the water-man to enter. Her helpers 
took him in hand, and the wood-carrier a minute later. 
Then they made them go to the filing box, take out the 
papers, and burn them. She deposited her own. Then 
she and her supporters marched the three a long way 
down the road, and let them go with threats. She got 
to the village, got a man she could trust on the wire at 
Independence, intercepted the fraudulent papers, and 
then by train, motor, and horseback herself took the 
proper papers. She had two cups of coffee and a ham 
sandwich or two for food those three days, she said.” 

“An astonishing tale, certainly,” Clara commented, 
uncurling a sleeping ankle. 

“But only begun, my dear. This isn’t the half of it! 
Are you game for more?” 

“Rather-er!” “You bet!” “Good-ee!” 

“You see, the property was very valuable and the 
company grew more and more ruthless. Their next 
nasty step was to put an armed guard on the spring, 
and not allow her workmen to get water. She got an 
injunction from the court to prevent that, but could not 
find any one with courage enough to serve the papers. 
She got herself appointed a deputy sheriff and served 
the papers, herself, but the company’s representative 
only laughed at her. 

“Her own lawyer could hardly believe that the situa- 


126 GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 

tion was as bad as she represented it to him. At last 
she persuaded him to disguise himself, and go up with 
her to look it over. They found that the company 
manager had built a hut a few yards from hers. He 
taunted her, and said he should shortly be annexing 
her hut to his as a kitchen. She went into the house, 
and the old half-breed and his wife cooked her some 
food. The company allowed them only a gallon of 
water a day for all purposes. The lawyer slipped out 
the back way and got a good view of the armed guard 
around the spring. 

“He had barely come back when a whistle sounded 
and the company’s men came running from their work. 
They gathered between the two huts. She went out 
on her little stoop and looked at them. They stared 
at her. The company manager began screaming to 
them that she was dangerous, and that the company’s 
orders were to kill her. She just stood still and waited. 
The men looked from the manager who was much 
excited, to her, standing calmly there. He stopped his 
screeching, and she said quietly: ‘Come on and fight 
two women and an old man if you like, but the first 
one to step this way won’t get very far.’ She told 
me: ‘I ain’t never really killed a man yet, and I don’t 
want to, but I meant business, and they knew it. I’m 
a crack shot, and I guess some of ’em knowed that, 
too.’ 

“Well, anyway, for whatever reason, one of the men 
told the manager they were hired to work the mine, 


THE CREST AND A STORY 


127 

not to fight women, and they all scattered, the manager 
shaking his fist and swearing after them. 

“She wasn’t afraid of that coward, of course, and the 
lawyer and the old couple inside would be enough wit¬ 
nesses, so she went on down to the valley and started 
suit. The court stopped all operations at both mines, 
pending the trial. 

“She went up again soon after, however, to see that 
the order was being enforced. She rode a donkey this 
time—how that woman loved donkeys! She said they 
were far more intelligent than houses, and as trusty as 
any dog ever was.” 

(“Yea-a-a!” murmured Perdita, suppressed by 
Clara.) 

“She had a man with her. A company man, ap¬ 
parently a caretaker, shouted suddenly to her man and 
he left her side and went to see what was wanted. 
She was just riding under a great steel cableway. 

“The cableway slipped, dropped, pinning her down, 
cutting her horribly, face, shoulder, side. That plucky 
little donkey stood absolutely still. If he had run or 
dragged, she must have been torn apart. 

“There were two men in the company office a few 
yards away. They remained indoors. The man who 
had called her escort away had vanished. Two tramps 
were going down the hill. They had been up there 
looking for work. They heard the crash, and came 
running to help her. 

“She was conscious and full of rage. She and the two 


128 GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


tramps frightened the office men into calling up the 
village and demanding her own doctor. She refused 
to be carried indoors or to let herself be bandaged by 
the tramps. She said she was thinking about evidence, 
and she wanted her doctor to see her as she really was. 
Also, she wanted to be where she could keep an eye on 
the whole field. O, she was a fighter, my prospector! 

“She got her evidence too. She got damages from 
the company for the injury. Her man confessed that 
he had been hired to lead her under the cableway and 
then leave her, and the tramps and the doctor were very 
clear and unshakable in their testimony, while the 
company’s men didn’t like their job any too well, and 
told their lies half-heartedly. 

“She told me the story of her hospital experience. 
She would not take an anaesthetic even when the sur¬ 
geon had to chip a bit off her cheek-bone, to free a 
nerve caught in a crack, or something incredible like 
that. She said she depended on her own mind, and as 
long as that was clear she could endure anything, and 
fight anything through, but if she were to lose conscious¬ 
ness she could not answer for the consequences-” 

(“Heavens!” gasped Clara. “I heard a girl pleading 
with Doctor Helen to give her an anaesthetic when she 
vaccinated her! Go on, do.”) 

“That night she was on her way down to Los Angeles 
for a consultation with her lawyer, for the main case 
was about to come up for trial, the water-rights ques¬ 
tion. I never saw her again after we had had a cup of 


THE CREST AND A STORY 


129 

coffee and some doughnuts at the station lunch-counter 
the next morning. ,, 

“The same old story of fighting over jewels and gold,” 
said Emily. “It makes you think of The Jungle Book 
and The King’s Ankus. I don’t believe I’d dare to own 
a mine or a diamond necklace.” 

Ruth was still staring into the coals. “Great old 
spirit, that woman,” she went on. “I wish you could 
have seen her flirting with a rosy-cheeked old constable 
at Mohave. We had to wait there two or three hours 
in the middle of the night, and spent most of them 
walking up and down with that old villain, who was a 
friend of hers. In the wild days he used to be one of a 
gang to rob tenderfoot travellers, but now in his re¬ 
tired years the company had made him a constable. 
He knew all the tricks of the game, and left us once to 
stalk and catch two young thieves. He chuckled as 
he told us how the wind used to blow travellers’ hats 
away, and the gang would find and keep them. They 
kept a little shop near the station where they sold 
each bare-headed traveller his predecessor’s hat at 
a fancy figure. 

“He was a cheery old bird, and much taken with 
himself and with our society. Several times he said: 
‘If I’d ’a’ knowed I was a goin’ to have such a pleasant 
time to-night, I’d ’a’ shaved!’” 

“Ruth, Ruth, Ruth!” Clara got up, laughing. 
“You’ve degenerated from a thriller to pure gossip. It’s 
the corrupting influence of human-kind, even so far off.” 


130 


GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


Ruth protested: “No, high austerities and imperson¬ 
alities aren’t the whole of life, at least not for a human 
being. I liked that woman. We had a lot of ideas in 
common. About bring up children, for instance. 
She said: ‘Spank ’em, and kiss ’em. Nowadays lots 
o’ folks don’t do either. They’re afraid to spank ’em 
for fear they’ll hit back, and they’re afraid to kiss ’em 
for fear of givin’ ’em germs.’ One point we agreed on 
was that in a long life of discipline there should be an 
orgy occasionally. Emily, you may sleep with the 
bugle under your head to-night, and nobody dare stir 
till you blow it!” 


CHAPTER XIV 


ORDEALS AND POETRY 

F ROM the camp on Humphreys’ shoulder their 
course turned to the south. Crossing the Piute 
trail, with no least desire to follow it down to the big 
valley, they ascended steeply to the last pass adopted 
by the Three-Corner Round boys. (It was on this trail 
that the marmot frightened Sugar Plum, five times 
his size, and horned!) On the farther side they dropped 
down into a basin, draining into Evolution Creek— 
and doing so with heartiness, for no less than five cas¬ 
cades were visible and audible from the series of ledges 
on which they pitched their camp; the camp of the 
Cascades, wildest of all so far. It seemed even wilder 
because of a crashing of thunder which greeted them on 
arrival. 

The only tree was a great octopus-like white-bark, 
spreading on the ground in a circle, a hundred and 
twenty feet in diameter. The erect branchlets were 
only three feet high, but on penetrating into the centre, 
they found a hub-like trunk, and huge branches radiat¬ 
ing from it in all directions. Covered by the thick 
snow mat of winter, the old tree must have survived 
three hundred years at least. 

131 


132 


GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


Up one of the little valleys which let its shining thread 
of water ripple past the camp, was a chain of lakes, and 
at its very head, a tiny glacier, only a “glacieret” really, 
but though the girls had all summer long seen signs 
of the great glacier dragons which had once dwelt in 
the mountains, scooping out basins for themselves, 
leaving rounded domes where sharp peaks had been, 
eating back into cliff walls, making cirques or corries, 
leaving glittering polish on bare ledge, transporting 
huge boulders vast distances, they had not yet seen 
“even a baby glacier , 9 and were keen to do so. 

Ruth promised an expedition in a day or two, when 
they should carry out the one tradition feminine of the 
Three-Corner Round, a little pageant in praise of “Our 
Sister Water.” 

Tradition had been even more than usual in their 
minds since the midsummer mail had brought that 
promised typescript of the Letters to Nine Mothers. 
A friend whose son had, some years before, spent a sum¬ 
mer surveying in the Sierras with the original boy outfit, 
unearthing the old journal, had sent it on to Clara. 

Of whatever interest its pages, chiefly full of food 
references, might or might not have been to Clara, the 
girls found them absorbing. 

Emily, perusing them, observed with interest, that 
one Elmer Barth, “Eleven years old, but nine-year-old 
size,” had on one occasion made twenty-one pounds of 
bread, single-handed, even providing his own fuel. 
The camp where the event took place was named in 


ORDEALS AND POETRY 


133 


honor thereof. The recounting of the achievement had 
stimulated all succeeding boys, so that each one in the 
years that followed, had, at least once, equalled that 
small one’s record. 

Emily, reading, aspired to carry on the tradition. 
In fact, she said several times that she should do so, a 
repetition which caused Perdita rather nastily to hint 
at scepticism. Emily thereupon sharply committed 
herself to the very next morning, and went to bed early, 
to be ready for “sponge at sunrise.” 

Phebe helped her wake, helped her locate her wander¬ 
ing garments, helped her, shivering, hunt the yeast- 
cakes, and would have made the fire had not Emily, 
now fully awake, refused further assistance. 

And after breakfast Phebe forgot her sister in an acute 
alarm of her own. Manuel came in reporting that the 
donkeys had hit the Piute trail and were gone. 

Those Three-Corner Round donkeys were kept in 
wild, rocky trailless parts so much of the season that a 
chance to go galloping off on a real, beaten trail, with 
horse-tracks and dung and an occasional tin can or 
green and white Forest Service sign-post on it, went 
to their heads like strong drink. They put down their 
ears and tossed up their tails, and made off at one mad 
frisking gallop, and overtaking them was a matter of 
hours. Joe started off at once, on receiving Manuel’s 
report, and after an hour’s swift walking, pausing for a 
moment to relieve his shoe of a pebble, was startled to 
find Phebe softly, eagerly following. 


GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


i34 

Phebe loved the donkeys, each individual darling and 
rascal of the lot. And she loved Joe, and liked to be with 
him. And it always worried her to have anything 
lost or mislaid. And, still more deeply working in the 
recesses of her mind and heart as a reason, those littlej 
gray and brown and black creatures represented Phebe’s 
line of communication with Daddy and Mother and 
“Our Grandma.” She simply could not stay in camp 
while Joe followed the donkeys, and she simply would 
not go home now, when Joe rather helplessly besought 
her to do so. 

So Emily, hardly able to realize the fact, found 
herself launched on a great bread-making enterprise 
with no Joe to come to the rescue if ruin threatened, 
and no Phebe to jog her mind, in sweet, sisterly fashion, 
at important junctures. 

Ruth carried Perdita off on a rock-studying expedi¬ 
tion: the greatest help she could have given Emily, to 
take that naughty, exulting little wretch away, out of 
sight or hearing or smelling. The boys washed the 
dishes, and set to harness-mending. Clara retired to 
her little forester’s tent, hanging out the red scarf that 
meant: “Don’t disturb” instead of the blue one which 
meant “Latch-string’s out. Come with joys or trou¬ 
bles or discoveries.” 

Troubles a-plenty beset that bread-making. How 
impish Perdita would have revelled in them! How 
faithful Phebe would have suffered! And how un¬ 
lucky Emily wrestled with them! 


ORDEALS AND POETRY 


135 

The sponge, set first with cold water, because the 
fire wouldn’t light quickly, simply remained unas¬ 
similated yeast in flourpaste. Then, hope failing, the 
fire having waked up, hot water was put in and the 
yeast was killed. 

A fresh start, and the sun already high. Now seven 
cups of warmed flour were measured out into each of the 
three big dish-pans, raisins were set to fatten their 
sides in a bowl of water, oatmeal soaking in another bowl 
and plenty of tepid water was at hand; and Emily— 
took a book to read while she waited for the sponge to 
“bubble bravely.” 

The insidiousness of the book habit! Temperance 
lecturers should make it a theme for fulminations. 
When Emily looked up after what she was sure was only 
a five-minute interval, that sponge had risen over the 
edge of its pan, and was spilling all over the Sierras! 

Frantically rescued, the remainder was divided among 
the three waiting pans of flour, the raisins dumped in, 
and the mixing done hurriedly. Joe had a wonderful 
system of hand over hand mixing, like winding skeins 
of dough over swiftly moving reels. At first Emily 
tried this, but the dough seemed to attach itself to her 
fore arms so lovingly that she was alarmed lest there be 
no bread at all, and had recourse to less picturesque 
but more effective methods, losing considerable time in 
making the change. “Joe was right when he said 
it needed ‘experunce’,” she reflected, as she set the last 
of the three pans in as sunny a place as she could find, 


i 3 6 GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 

and, having cleaned her arms with sticks and sharp 
edges of granite, walked up and down the camp, wait¬ 
ing for “ double its bulk,” and firmly refusing to allow 
herself to look once in the direction of that treacherous 
book. 

Three-Corner Round tradition, heterodox at many 
points, was in none more violently so than in the speed 
of its bread-making. Instead of time as an essential 
ingredient, yeast was substituted, yeast in such quan¬ 
tity that orthodox mothers always refused to believe 
either oral reports or the printed cook-books’ assevera¬ 
tions in that regard. As a result of the great quantity 
of ferment working in those pans, Emily’s vigil was not 
long. She soon attacked the first, with a glance at her 
wrist-watch, and began the weary kneading. Kneading 
is fun, on your knees beside one pan, with two other 
girls on theirs beside the other two, all chattering or 
singing, but all alone, knowing there are two other 
batches to come, and each one must have a full twenty 
minutes (and the day advancing!) is solemn business. 

Clara peered out of her tent and offered to help. 
“No, thank you, Santa Clara!” And one more bit of 
heroism was set down in the Recording Angel’s book 
for that hour, day and hemisphere. 

Twenty minutes can be an interminable period. In 
fact, in this case it became non-existent, perhaps in¬ 
volving some qualification in the R. A.’s entry. The 
first kneading got cut off at eighteen, the second at 
seventeen and a quarter, and the third one, with arms 


ORDEALS AND POETRY 


i37 

aching, and the sun staying under a cloud, barely got to 
the fifteen mark. 

She had forgotten to grease the big baking-pots. 
When that oversight had been corrected, and a fat loaf 
was slowly spreading itself in each pot, Emily, with 
dough drying and dried on her hands, began to hunt for 
the iron discs of the fireless cookers. Three turned up 
promptly where they were supposed to be, the fourth 
and fifth less readily, and number six was possessed of 
an imp and simply would not be found. 

Santa Clara interrupted a wild search, in which the 
contents of boxes and bags were being thrown recklessly 
about, to insist on a peaceful luncheon of fried dates, 
little, thin, brown bread sandwiches, and cool sweet 
orange juice. She talked tranquilly of quiet things as 
she watched the flushed cheeks of her companion. 
Then she packed up the few dishes for Manuel to wash, 
gave Emily a kiss, surreptitiously made up the fire, and 
drove Omelet away from a rising loaf, before she slipped 
away again. 

Number six showed himself at once after that peace¬ 
ful interlude, and seven, eight, and nine along with him. 
So that the first six were on the coals, and the last three 
handy, when Emily decided that the bread must be 
double its bulk, and ready for the oven. She was even 
feeling cheerful and competent, when she observed 
that the wood-pile was not! 

She gasped with dismay, then remembering how little 
Elmer had had to go a half-mile from camp, chop his 


138 GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 

wood, and then catch a donkey to carry it, she dashed 
off* to a pile of big, rotting logs near by, wondering as 
she made for it, why the boys had overlooked it, bring¬ 
ing wood from much farther afield. She knew that it 
was only in Joe’s and Ruth’s absence that they had 
dared let the supply run out She could hear Jose 
snoring as she ran, and she bit her lip to avoid a cloud¬ 
burst. 

Battle-scenes are beyond the scope of most painters’ 
powers. Only a great artist could adequately show the 
little Indian, her headband lost, tossing her thick, 
curly mop of brown hair out of her eyes, blinded with 
perspiration, now tugging big, light sticks to her fire¬ 
side, nowblowing on dimcoals, now choking with smoke, 
now straining tear-filled eyes over the illegible ther¬ 
mometer—again in a rage, attempting to wash that 
hot glass tube with cold water, only to smash it, of 
course, burning her bare arms, rushing at the wretched 
little goat who planted one dainty little hoof neatly in 
the very midst of a rounded loaf, trying the stones with 
pinches of flour which would not brown quickly, 
gathering up resolution at last to scramble a long, long 
way up the mountain-side to where really good wood 
stood, bringing down her leather skirt full of sound chips 
left from yesterday’s choppings—and only a musician 
could register the full range of the sigh with which the 
last pot and the last disc clapped into the last cooker, 
the blankets and tarp were dragged over and tucked 
viciously in. 


ORDEALS AND POETRY 


i39 


Ruth and Perdita arrived at a moment suspiciously 
soon after that sigh, Perdita full of pleasure in the day’s 
searches, discoveries and theorizings, entirely recovered 
from her maliciousness, Ruth full of sympathy for the 
poor little cook. And then on the air came a dreadful 
smell, and Emily flung herself upon the cookers, snatch¬ 
ing off blankets, throwing up lids, and grabbing, with any¬ 
thing her hand could lay hold on, at the pots and discs. 

“I forgot the little stones on the bottom disc, and 
they’re scorching,” she sobbed. Then, as Ruth and 
Manuel finished righting the wrong, she fled to Clara’s 
tent, and, red scarf notwithstanding, burst in, and threw 
herself down beside Clara’s comfortable lap, and let 
the cloud-burst come! 

“ First, they wouldn’t get hot, and then I burned ’em, 
and they rose too much, and they wouldn’t rise at all, 
and I forgot—the salt! And after all my bragging!” 

“‘Of wounds and sore defeat,’” 

Clara’s voice was as soft and steady as the hand which 
touched the teary cheeks, 

“‘Of wounds and sore defeat 
I made my battle-stay. 

Winged sandals for my feet 
I wove of my delay. 

Of weariness and fear 
I made my shouting spear. 

Of loss and doubt and dread 
And swift oncoming doom 
I made a helmet for my head 
And a floating plume. 


140 


GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


From the shutting mists of death, 

From the failure of the breath, 

I made a battle-horn to blow 
Across the vales of overthrow. 

O hearken, love, the battle-horn. 

The triumph clear, the silver scorn! 

O hearken, where the echoes bring 
Down the gray disastrous morn 
Laughter and rallying 

The camp had all gone to bed, except Santa Clara. 
Wrapped in a long blue Turkestan poshteen, soft fox 
fur inside, she sat on a high rock a little above the camp, 
keeping a small beacon-fire fed and burning. 

Thinking a little of Emily asleep at last after her 
bitter day, weary, but happy for having taken one step 
toward independence; thinking a little of Phebe and 
Joe for whom she waited; but after all chiefly thinking 
of the unutterable peace and beauty of the night, of 
the voices of the five waterfalls, near and remote, 
swelling and diminishing, of the hushed, silver light of 
the moon, itself invisible, flooding the valley, bringing 
out one great cliff*, casting sharp, black shadows. 

Suddenly she sat upright, listening intently. Bells! 
Far, far away, on the still air, faint, less faint, unmis¬ 
takable. More wood on the fire, more listening, more 
watching, a swift flight to camp, shaking the boys out 
of their sleeping-bags and sending them off* to gather 
in the truants. 

Then waiting again, till she saw Joe, steadily, slowly 
climbing the hillside toward her, a rope over his shoul- 


ORDEALS AND POETRY 


141 

der, and behind him, securely engirdled by the rope, 
leaning back so that most of her weight was carried for 
her, Phebe. Again a precipitation of girl into lap, not 
weeping this time, but happily, eagerly, hugging. 

“O, such a day, Santa Clara! And we were so tired 
and so hungry. Those naughty little scamps had gone 
ten miles away. I thought my legs would drop off, 
but I had to keep on. I couldn't go back. And they 
would have gone farther, but some nice people stopped 
them. And we didn’t suppose there’d be any people. 
The nicest people! A trapper and his wife. They knew 
they were running away and they stopped them and 
rounded them up and herded them till we got there. 
And they had supper for us. Such a good supper! 
They hadn’t any tent at all, just a kind of old rag on 
some curved sticks. They like to sleep out just the way 
we do, and they don’t even have to have a tent for 
dressing, because they are all by themselves. They 
were so brown and nice to look at! They were bare¬ 
foot, and they hadn’t any dishes hardly, just one big, 
iron pot and a few spoons. But they had a rabbit 
stew in the pot that was perfectly luscious! And some 
queer bread that you’d love. I loved it, too, I was so 
hungry. And they were so kind. They made me take 
a long nap (I slept four hours!); I rode back bareback 
till we had to climb, and then Joe pulled me. They 
gave us some of the bread to take in our pockets to eat 
on the way back. And they wouldn’t let Joe pay them 
a penny. And they’re poor. They trap winters, and 


i 4 2 GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 

in the summers they just travel around, looking. They 
said it was pleasure to give to us because we enjoyed 
it so. And I just love them, Santa Clara! Don’t you 
hope God will bless them? They were all ragged, but 
they looked clean. Don’t you love them, Santa Clara?” 

Clara was leading the happy child to the corner where 
her bed was waiting for her, and in the moonlight she 
helped her undress, bathed the ten dusty, tired toes, 
and helped her squirm into her blanket cocoon, warmed 
by hot stones. Then as the happy face smiled sleepily 
up at her from the pillow, she sat down again, and said: 

“I’ll chant you to sleep, my dear, a lullaby which 
will make your kind friends come to you in your dreams, 
and will bring a blessing to them in their camp. An 
old Gaelic rune I’ll sing you: 

“'I saw a stranger yestreen. 

I put food in the eating-place, 

Water in the drinking-place. 

Music in the listening-place. 

Now in the sacred name of the Triune 
He hath blessed me and my house, 

My cattle and my dear ones. 

“‘And the lark saith in her song 
“Often, often, often, 

Comes the Christ in the stranger’s guise.” 

“‘And the lark saith in her song: 

“Often, often, often, 

Comes the Christ in the stranger’s guise.”’ ” 


CHAPTER XV 


OUR SISTER WATER 

T HE day before the pageant the girls were sitting on 
the rocks in the sun, making long robes. Ruth 
had conceived the pageant in the winter, and brought 
with her the soft silks she wanted for the great day. 

For herself there was a shimmering soft gray into 
which was woven a swirling feathery design, like that 
made by swift-borne sediment in waters coming straight 
from a great glacier’s snout. 

For Clara there was a lovely, clouded jade-green. 

For Emily, peacock blue and green, iridescent. 

For Perdita, deep emerald'. 

For Phebe, sapphire blue. 

“You three are lakes. Santa Clara and I are the 
rivers who feed you. I come straight from the glacier, 
and Santa Clara’s jade is farther away, nearer to your 
clearnesses.” 

“Glad you didn’t do a muddy, brown river for any¬ 
body, like the Mississippi,” remarked Perdita. 

“I think a soft lace veil would be pretty like a water¬ 
fall,” said Phebe. “I’d like one on my head, for my 
waters to fall into my lake from. Doesn’t it seem queer 
to be sewing dainty things? I haven’t sewed a stitch, 
143 


144 


GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


except to darn woollen stockings or mend my knickers, 
since I came.” 

“I never did sew anything dainty,” declared Perdita. 
“I’d rather help Joe mend harness than do this. He 
has needles you can really see. O Emily, do help me 
get this tangle out of my thread! It’s such slinky stuff! ” 

Emily straightened out the difficulty, and set the 
needle into place again, absent-mindedly. Suddenly 
she exclaimed: 

“I used to take water for granted. Just went to the 
filter tank for a drink, or hopped into a big white bath¬ 
tub full, or turned a tap when I wanted to wash my 
hands. I don’t think I ever once thought about water 
in my whole life!” 

“But you’ve lived near the ocean,” protested Clara. 

“You don’t think of that as water, though. It’s more 
like a great living creature, you know, and scaring. I 
love these little mountain lakes.” 

“They’re so friendly.” “And so pretty!” the other 
girls put in. “I love everything about them,” Emily 
continued. “Little tiny trickles of brooks look like 
silver braids, and they have so many different sounds, 
and they wash the roots of wee, wee plants by the edges. 
’Member that pussy-willow blossom that was as long 
as its own trunk, just lying on the ground, flat, washed 
by the little stream? It really was a trunk, because 
the willow is a tree.” 

“I like the big waterfalls best. They go leaping and 
dancing and dashing down.” 


OUR SISTER WATER 


i45 

“Wait till you see the ones in the Yosemite then, 
Coppertop, if that’s what you like.” 

“Well, perhaps—but there are hotels and motor- 
buses in there. I’d rather see a waterfall that wasn’t 
so lovely, and have it all to myself.” 

“I found a lake once, all by myself,” said Ruth. 
“It wasn’t on the map, and there was no trail, and it lay 
behind a great dark mountain. I came to it, walking 
over clattery black scree, which made me feel desolate, 
as though I were walking over a burned forest, and 
suddenly, there it was, round and shapely, and the colors 
were those of peacock feathers, most wondrous deep 
greens and blues, lustrous, splendent, with great crags 
reflected in them, and the faintest breeze ruffling the 
reflections. I call it my Lac Intime. If any great 
sorrow came to me, I should go and stay by it till I 
were comforted.” 

“Curious, how some of these little lakes are utterly 
charming,” commented Clara, “and yet others seem 
characterless. How many there are all up and down 
the Range, little blue and green lakes, held in the laps 
of the cirques!” 

“Farther south, instead of lakes, you’ll find meadows,” 
corrected Ruth. “Wide, green meadows, with no end 
of lovely flowers. Some day there will be five green 
meadows where our five lakes are now. I love to think 
of the time when glaciers, all rough ice and dirty with 
fallen scree, filled these valleys, gouging out the lake 
basins as they crept along. And I love to stretch my 


146 GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 

mind and think at the same time of the time to come 
when lush, tall grass and pink and blue pentstemon and 
the blue and white larkspur and the star of Bethlehem 
will be growing in those very spots “where the lakes 
are now.” 

“O dear, I don’t,” sighed Phebe. “It makes my 
head ache to think either forward or back so far, and I 
couldn’t begin to think both ways at once. I like to 
think about just now.” 

Ruth flashed a glance at Perdita. Perdita was lost. 
In the “here and now” Perdita might be slangy, saucy, 
indifferent, matter-of-fact, but there was something in 
her which echoed to far cries from past or future. The 
others, as they sewed, drifted into chat as to the respec¬ 
tive merits of Chot and Acrobat and about the humming 
bird who had hummed about Phebe’s head when she 
wore a red tarn o’ shanter, but Perdita was unaware. 
It took a shriek from the pressure cooker, and the mild 
“Heaving!” from Joe which followed, to rouse her to 
finish her long, green seam with galloping stitches, 
and join the others at a supper of corn-meal mush, 
thick with raisins, and a salad of wild onions and miner’s 
lettuce with curry dressing. 

Next day, in their camp dresses of buckskin, they 
were all five off at daybreak. It was a pleasant scram¬ 
ble over rocks, black and gold with lichen, now climbing 
high above one little azure lake, now descending to the 
edge of one of turquoise, now crossing on stepping- 
stones one of apple-green, now picking their way among 


OUR SISTER WATER 


147 

huge, fallen blocks fringed with laurel-like clusters of 
Alpine-heather till, in sight of the dirty little glacier, 
making a cirque for itself and for the lake of the fu¬ 
ture, they reached the farthest side of the highest lake, 
blue as the “speedwell’s darling blue” that grew beside 
it. 

There a cairn had been built in the shape of the <§>, 
and they eagerly removed from its heart the little match 
box, and read the names of all the girls who had pre¬ 
ceded them: Irene, Cicely, Marjorie, Charlotte, Mary, 
Helen, Edith, Joan, Roberta, Rose, Bess, and Gretchen. 
This tradition was purely feminine, but they respected it 
and took pains to write their own first names clearly. 
Then they replaced the box, mended the cairn, and made 
ready for their little ceremony, by opening their knap¬ 
sacks and putting on their silken garments. (One of the 
traditions was that the pageant should be enacted, 
fasting. Eating, Ruth had found, made a picnic of 
it.) 

The three little lakes, in their lovely, shimmering 
colors, seated themselves, one below the other, the 
jade-green river stood above them, and the gray, glacial 
stream took up a position higher still. 

Then, after all together had prayed devoutly: 

“ Praised be my Lord for Our Sister Water, who is 
very serviceable unto us, and humble and precious and 
clean!” 

The poem which Ruth had wrought out in a tiny 
room in a city attic, overlooking chimneys and stilt- 


i 4 8 GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 

legged tanks, was recited, part by part, in sweet, rever¬ 
ent voices: 

Phebe: “I, Water, wear many disguises. 

I am the dew-drop silvering a clover. 

I am the frost pattern. 

I am the snow-flake. 

I am the ice-star on the new-frozen pool. 

I am the icicle fringing the bank. 

I am the tiny ice-pillar, rising from the ground, 
bearing soil up with me. 

Emily: “I am mist rising, from river or from sea. 

I am cloud forming, floating, disappearing. 

I am cumulus, white and rounded. 

I am level stratus. 

I am long, streaming cirrus, high, highest, ice- 
crystals, now herald of storm, now its follower, 
like mother-of-pearl in the sunlight. 

I am nimbus, heavy, ready for downpour. 

“I am rain, great, slow drops, quick-rushing 
downpour. 

I am sun-shower. I am cloud-burst. 

I am the drops in the air, on which the sun 
paints the rainbow. 

“I am hail, swift to smite, swift to vanish. 

“I am snow, snow falling, snow fallen, snow melt¬ 
ing, snow sliding. I am snow banner flung 
out from summit. 

“I am glacier. I am iceberg. I am river. I am 
cascade. I am waterfall. I am brook. I am 


OUR SISTER WATER 


149 

spring. I am lake. I am tarn. I am geyser. 

Last I am Ocean. 

Ruth: “As Ocean I do enswathe the rocky sphere, the 

Earth, in my wide, blue embraces, my tides 
washing the edges of those patches of the rock 
I leave, now for a space, uncovered. 

Upon the rock-sphere’s highest points and 
ridges I drift down in my cloud-shapes. There 
I dwell as snow, year in, year out, ever deep¬ 
ening, compact, compacting, melting, freezing, 
melting, creeping down as glaciers, running 
down as rivers, from high places everywhere, 
gray, blue-green, then clear as crystal, down, 
down, forever downward, till I reach at last 
myself, the Ocean. 

“Thence, rising as cloud again, like the veils of a 
dancer, I fly and float about the whirling rock- 
sphere. 

Faster than she flies, I seem to fly before her. 

At her own majestic rate I float and hover. 

Now, caught by winds, I go against her. 

“I try in vain to cross her most waste places. The 
thirsty air consumes me. Her high moun¬ 
tain ranges hold me, and forbid my passing. 

Over the sea I fall in torrents. 

Over the plains and the valleys I scatter myself 
in showers. 

“Forever, as the rock-sphere spins in space, my 
veils float above her and about her, curving 
with her curves, dark in her shadow, rose- 
edged at her shadow’s rim, white in the sun- 


GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 

light, gold-hued and flame-hued at sunrise 
and sunset. 

“Forever, as the rock-sphere spins in space, my 
snows rest on her ridges, my rains fall on her 
forests, my springs feed her hillsides. My 
streams wind through her plains, and run 
down her valleys. My oceans clothe her with 
pulsating garments. 

“I crumble the mountains. I carve the valleys. 
I carry the land to the sea. I lay down the 
rock. I build up the terrace. I percolate the 
rock-sphere. I dissolve. I deposit. 

“Locked in the opal, stored in the leaf-cell, part 
of life-tissue, I am immanent, working. 

“Without me, the Earth would be barren, and, 
like a black star, changeless. 

Man, beast and bird, leaf, flower, root, and grass- 
blade, would perish. 

There would be no Spring without me. 

“I am man’s most humble servant. I am a tool 
more powerful than any of his conception. I 
do his bidding. 

“And in one rush of my floods I can destroy all 
that he has, in ages, by my help and his great 
toil and greater dreaming, seemed to ac¬ 
complish. 

“I am the sculptor of the Earth, forever shaping. 

“In me lies the whole gamut of light and of color. 

“My voice is music. The whole range of sound. 
I utter, from the lapping of ripples on a sandy 


OUR SISTER WATER 


iSi 

beach, and the trickle of tiniest brooklet, to 
the thundering roar of breakers, on the shores 
of my wide-flung seas. 

“I am movement. I am rhythm. 

I am mist rising, cloud floating, rain falling, snow 
drifting. 

I am glacier creeping, ice-crystals, inwardly 
gliding. 

I am brook running, river flowing. 

I am cascade. I am waterfall. I am ripple. 
I am rapid. 

I am spray dashing, surf breaking, waves 
swelling. 

I am tide. I am ebb. I am flow. I am rhythm. 


“I am Water.” 


CHAPTER XVI 


ON TRAVELLED TRAILS 

S tockings, girls r 

“O Chieftaine, they’re so hot!” 

“And my legs aren’t as brown as Coppertop’s yet!” 
“And I’m sure to tear mine on rocks or climbing 
trees when we get down to the tree-line. If you scratch 
your legs, Nature mends ’em!” 

“Ultra-violet rays are healthy, Chieftaine!” 

“Tut, tut! What an undisciplined lot! We travel 
on main trails for the next three marches, and das 
Publikum doesn’t approve of bare-legged maidens.” 

“Das silly Publikum!” growled Perdita as she over¬ 
hauled her “personal” for a pair of stockings not too 
ragged for the Silly Public’s gaze. “Why didn’t we 
grow stockings if skin is wicked to look at?” 

It was only a few miles for a Clarke’s crow, from 
Camp of the Cascades to Avalanche Camp, but for 
burros and lassies it was a three-days’ march. The 
Three-Corner Round traditions, of keeping close to the 
crest, and of avoiding the ways of men, came into con¬ 
flict at this point. Unless they were to go over the very 
top of the knife-edged arrete above Evolution Lake, 


ON TRAVELLED TRAILS 


i 53 

or down into Owens Valley, they must adopt the Muir 
trail and the Muir Pass. Ruth commented to Clara 
after her skirmish with the rebels: 

“If they had crossed Muir Pass as often as I have, 
they’d want stockings fast enough, and perhaps puttees 
as well. I’ve never crossed the thing except in a storm, 
and the signs aren’t wanting for one to-day.” 

Down from the camp among the cascades, the little 
train was winding, to the head of a wide, steep, grassy 
couloir. Suddenly Phebe exclaimed: 

“Mary Louise’s bell is tied!” And forthwith sprang 
in the direction of Mary Louise. An admirable spring, 
the only difficulty being that Mary Louise’s direction 
changed instantly. Phebe measured her length on the 
grass. Perdita took up the chase, almost laying hands 
on the bell-collar at the foot of a great, smooth slope of 
rock. Mary Louise flew lightly, noiselessly upward, 
and Perdita, knowing from experience that she could 
not follow, ran around to head her off*. The tantalizing 
little creature sprang off* the opposite edge of the rock, 
alighting in Emily’s arms, keeling Emily over, and flit¬ 
ting away, dodging Joe and both boys, running actually 
between Manuel’s straddled legs, then racing gayly 
down the couloir. 

“We’ll never be able to find her at milking-time,” 
gasped Phebe, who was head of the dairy department 
that week. “We’ve got to catch her.” 

“Pretend you don’t want her,” suggested Ruth. 
“Look! The little scamp! She’s waiting for us now. 


i54 GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 

She wants to do it all over again. She thinks it’s a good 
tamasha!” 

They passed her without a glance, absorbed in the 
scenery. After all had gone by, Emily felt a little head 
rubbing against her, and there was Mary Louise, look¬ 
ing up with gentle nanny-goat eyes, and saying, quite 
plainly: “That was jolly fun, wasn’t it? Did you see 
me dodge Joe ? Now, I wish you’d untie my bell, please, 
because I like to hear it jingling when I dance.” 

There was some trouble in the next wooded stretch of 
the journey, with the donkeys, fording the many little 
streams which represented the upper cascades below. 
They gathered meadow-rue and spiraea and ripe 
strawberries, and after a little time emerged upon the 
beaten trail, with sign-posts and a littered camp-site 
close to the trail-side. 

Phebe stopped and began to tidy up. It took a per¬ 
emptory order from Ruth to make her desist and come on. 

“I shall come in, sometime, on the trails, and spend a 
whole summer cleaning up these precious mountains. 
That day the donkeys ran away I just about died with 
shame, there were so many horrid places. When I 
die, I shall leave all my money to keep the mountains 
neat. What in the world do they come here for, if they 
want to look at tin cans and oatmeal boxes?” 

“Poor things!” sighed Ruth, pushing the young 
reformer before her. “Some of the trail-followers 
hate the litter as much as you do. I met a chap once, 
with the saddest eyes. He had just two weeks’ vacation, 


ON TRAVELLED TRAILS 


155 

and it had taken him five days to get to a little resort 
just within the mountains, and it would take five more 
to get back to his work. He said to me: ‘It’s my first 
vacation in three years, and I was just hungry for it, 
and now Fm here, there’s nothing but tin cans. I 
cleaned ’em up the first day, but I found twice as many 
the second. It takes the heart out of a man. ’ No, you 
don’t, young woman. You march straight ahead. 
We’ll be lucky if we make the pass before the storm, and 
don’t have to stop at Desolate Orphans Camp for the 
night. To cheer you, I’ll tell you the Sierra Club 
comes in here, three hundred strong, for a month at a 
time, and never leaves a trace of its camp anywhere.” 

Everybody seemed to have a grievance that day. 
Perdita was irritated by the frequency of the signs. 
“If they have to be told what trail they are on every 
hundred yards, when there isn’t a branch trail anywhere, 
they ought not to be allowed away from home,” she 
sputtered. “Such idiots’d better get lost!” 

The sky was heavily clouded, and the country had a 
bleak look. The great bulwark of Goddard on their 
right looked dark and ominous. The only interest the 
girls took was in trying to identify the part of the trail 
where the boys, according to the oracular typescript, 
had met the barking professors: a jovial party of men 
who had greeted a wood-gathering contingent with 
barks like dogs—and who, met the next day on the 
march, sedately proved to be an army officer and three 
college professors! 


156 GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 

They shivered as they looked down at the dull lake 
beside which, under a great protecting shoulder of 
moraine, a bad-weather camp had once been made. 
Clara reminded them that the “Letters ” had declared 
that, after the storm, the sunset had been superb, and 
that the leaden lake had turned sheer sapphire. 

“But I don’t like gloomy days,” declared Emily. 
“They seem like a mistake. I think the sun means to 
shine always. To-day is horrid.” 

“Another of you qualifying for a Buddhist hell,” 
sighed Clara. “Grumbling about the weather. And 
Perdita was doing a bit of backbiting about her neigh¬ 
bor a few minutes since. She’s due to enter that same 
circle in the Wheel of Life.” 

“Perhaps Phebe’s efforts to tidy up may atone, and 
save the others,” suggested Ruth. 

“No, indeed. That’s the valuable feature of the 
Buddhist system: everybody has to expiate his own 
offences. There’s no shoving one’s sins’ consequences 
off on neighbor or sister. How high is the pass, Ruth ? ” 

“Twelve thousand, exactly. And then we drop down 
pretty quickly. Get out your rain-coats, girls! It’s 
coming!” 

“Our Sister Water” was in fierce mood that day. 
She came as stinging hail, borne by a fierce wind over the 
pass, straight into the faces of the party. Clara drew 
the hood of her Arctic parka far over her face, and hud¬ 
dled forward on her saddle, finding it hard to recall 
that the afternoon before she had lain in the sun in 


ON TRAVELLED TRAILS 157 

thin summer garments. The hail struck in at even the 
tiny crack through which she peered out at Coupe's 
cropped ears. She caught her breath sharply with the 
sting of it and the cold of it. 

“Eve found some more of that rock the granite 
baked," chirped Perdita’s voice. “I had my eyes shut 
against the hail, and then I heard Johnny Harvard's 
hoofs clinking on it, and I looked, and all about us I 
saw it. It looks like striped blue and gray ribbon. 
It's not a bit like granite. It's tight-woven. Sort of." 

Clara made no answer, but sighed a little to herself: 
“I'm not altogether clear of old Forty yet. That infant 
doesn’t even know it's hailing!" 

Coupe stopped short. Before him was a bridge of 
snow. The rest of the outfit had crossed it with very 
little hesitation, but cautious old Coupe Oreille did not 
like the look of it. On Joe's advice, Clara dismounted, 
and crossed on foot. Then Coupe followed, gravely 
testing each step before he committed himself to it. 

“You old fraud!" cried Clara, getting back into her 
saddle. “I've prided myself it was devotion to me 
that made you so careful. It's just self-preservation, 
you ancient, gray hypocrite. Why, Coppertop, look! 
It's clearing already!" 

“Unhun." Perdita was not interested. She was 
whacking at a piece of her blue-ribbon rock with a little 
hammer. “I think this has all been under pressure and 
awfully hot," she informed Clara. “I've got three dif¬ 
ferent specimens to show Ruth when we get into camp." 


158 GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 

Joe had made a cache of firewood off the trail a little 
below the pass, just beyond Lake Helen. Next morn¬ 
ing the march was renewed, down a wild canyon, and 
presently down to forest, of silver pine first, then within 
sight of a most lovely grove of mountain hemlock. 

The descent of quite three thousand feet was made in 
a short time. Clara’s ears rang, and the others all felt 
a faint sense of depression, but the beauty of the coun¬ 
try offset that difference in air pressure. 

It was a rugged valley, once scooped out by a glacier 
into a U shape. “Once,” Ruth meditated, “it was all 
as bare as the rock high up on both sides is now.” She 
reconstructed that period in her mind, imagining the 
first lichen spores out of the air taking hold on the lower 
rocks, clothing them, crumbling them, furnishing with 
their own dead matter the organic material needed for 
soil, thus little by little the way being prepared for 
splendid trees in the bottom, and part way up the sides. 
She conceived the process continuing, till the sides 
should all be green. “And bythattime, peoplewill have 
spread over America so thickly that residence sites in 
the Middle Kings Valley will be valuable, and perhaps 
people will be carrying earth up from the river-bottom 
and making terraces to cultivate, up there where it is 
like polished marble now. One thing is certain, though, 
they won’t carry it in baskets as they do in the Alps 
and Himalayas. Cable-ways—ugh!” She dismissed 
the thought with a shiver, then drove her donkey into 
the river sharply, in order to cross downstream of tiny 


ON TRAVELLED TRAILS 


159 


Hemet, the wee-est of the colts, who had crossed rivers 
hitherto on Joe’s back, but had essayed this one on his 
own. Ears and nose tip alone showing above water, he 
managed to swim it, and sprawled up the farther bank, 
dripping and shaking, to receive congratulations. 

Emily and Phebe drove the donkeys out of camp a 
little later, to find feed. As they pushed through a 
grove of firs, they suddenly heard a girl’s voice shout¬ 
ing: 

“As I live, Dad, a Three-Corner Round donkey!” 

They saw a pair of long arms go about Shrimp’s 
neck, and then a tall girl in a paint-stained green smock 
came toward them, welcoming: 

“I’m Sylvia,” she said. “I’ve met the Three-Corner 
Round in here every summer since I can remember. 
How’s Ruth? Dad, come and meet the new girls.” 

But Dad, intent on catching a last golden light after 
the storm, did not even hear his daughter, and Emily, 
stealing up to look over his shoulder at his easel, was 
so entranced that she did not notice that Sylvia had 
taken her place and was helping Phebe drive the don¬ 
keys, until that wood-nymph reappeared with a cordial 
invitation from her mother for all the party to come at 
once to her camp to supper. 

A fixed camp! With cupboards, and a long table, 
and a stove made of cemented stones, and a chintz- 
hung living-tent, with magazines and books. And 
pictures! The others were excited over the blueberry 
pie, and the baked potatoes, and the delicious, golden 


160 GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 

trout, but Emily, even in the twilight, pored over the 
portfolio of sketches, till the artist himself led her to the 
table, promising that she should go out with him at sun¬ 
rise next day and see how it was done. 

Sylvia arranged a sunrise party, too, but for trout¬ 
fishing, Phebe and Perdita joyously agreeing to go with 
her, and solemnly engaging, at her request, not to 
catch more than “the limit.” These plans called for 
early bed-going, but the temptation to linger by the 
fire and ask questions of these friendly folk as to their 
memories of the Three-Corner Round old boys was too 
great for resisting, and Ruth had not the heart to insist. 

“Well, yes, I remember the boys a little,” said 
Sylvia. “I was very little, but there was one very tall 
one, so fair that he was red instead of ruddy brown like 
most of the others. He liked my handsprings, I re¬ 
member. And there was a short one they called Hobo 
Dave. He had a most shocking hat, with a hole so big 
his ear stuck out through it. Fm afraid what I re¬ 
member best is the donkeys. I forded the river on 
one, and I loved it.” 

“O dear, that’s always the way,” Perdita lamented. 
“Nobody ever tells us anything really interesting.” 

“Jack liked sketching,” volunteered “Dad.” “Seem¬ 
ed to be clever at it. Perhaps he’s exhibiting somewhere 
now. How time flies!” 

“They were all nice lads,” said the artist’s wife, 
comfortably. “And they all liked blueberry pie. I 
don’t recall them distinctly, there were so many boys 



A View From the Heights 














































































































■ 































. 

. 


















' 






















V ' 















ON TRAVELLED TRAILS 


161 


going through in those days, and they always stopped 
at our camp for whatever we could give them. That 
was when we camped on the trail on the other side of 
the river. We took the hint from the Three-Corner 
Rounders, and since then have always camped on this 
side, sometimes farther upstream, sometimes farther 
down, and we seldom see any one now. I rather miss 
the knapsack boys who used to come by, and be so glad 
to taste potatoes again, and sit down at a real table.” 

“We know how they felt/’ replied Ruth. “I pretend 
I’m sorry we ever have to take the trails, but I should 
miss my visit with you, most assuredly. I’d probably 
slip down and make it, anyhow. Now, maidens, say 
good-night. Trout bite best at sunrise. Sylvia won’t 
vanish overnight, for all she’s really a sprite of the 
mountains, without another abiding-place.” 

“Really?” Phebe’s eyes widened, anxiously. “Do 
/you live here all the winter, Sylvia? Isn’t it cold?” 

Sylvia laughed and pinched Phebe’s cheek. 

“Fifty feet of snow in midwinter, here, last year, 
by our observations of signs when we came in this 
spring. No, sweetheart, Ruth was only telling you a 
legend. She and I would not speak to each other if we 
met on a city street. Neither of us knows where the 
other lives. We wouldn’t know for anything. I be¬ 
lieve she is a dryad, and she believes I am-” 

“I know you are Sylvia,” said Ruth. “Girls— 
orders! Bed! You’ve been rebellious for two days, 
ever since I commanded stockings.” 


162 GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


“Sylvia doesn't wear them and we didn’t meet a soul 
on the trail either day!” burst out Perdita defiantly, 
and Ruth had to muzzle her and carry her off through 
the darkening woods to her own camp. 

Those two or three days in the Kings were a social 
orgy. Other fixed campers turned up, among them a 
boy so clean that the girls felt abashed in his combed 
and scented presence until they discovered that he 
was the only male in a nest of aunts, mothers, sisters, 
and female cousins, when their hearts went out to him 
in deep compassion. There was a delightful doctor, 
and a honey-mooning, eloping boy and girl who were 
most glad of an invitation to supper, and accepted with 
shy gratitude a big baking of Joe’s and Clara’s. Trout¬ 
fishing was great sport—golden trout exquisite to look 
on, interesting to outwit, most delicate, fried in olive 
oil, to eat epicureanly. 

But after all, they were glad when they started out 
of the valley, up the Dusty Creek trail, winding through 
real chaparral, manzanita, ceanothus, chinquapin, for 
a bristly half-mile, up to junipers, superb old fellows, 
great ragged trunks, and masses of yellow-green foliage, 
wonderful to behold against the blue, blue sky: juni¬ 
pers finding foothold on a series of great, smooth ledges, 
over which the water of the creek slid in long, foaming 
loops. Then, slowly, up and up through a stretch of 
quivering poplars, following the stream among rocks, 
from under which and beside which every kind of tall 
flower sprang, through a stand of lodge-pole mixed with 


ON TRAVELLED TRAILS 163 

white-bark, erect as any tree, hardly to be thought of 
as the squat, fierce-clinging thing of the higher alti¬ 
tudes. The lodge-pole grew scarcer, the white-bark 
more numerous. Suddenly, in an open meadow, they 
found gentians! The first gentians! Square, deep- 
blue cups, silken in texture, indescribably thrilling in 
their loveliness—a half-acre patch of them! 

Now came a steep climb, leaving the trail, at last, 
and in the space of a hundred feet, white-bark aban¬ 
doned its erect posture. Bare, weathered granite held 
in its crannies prostrate trunks of giants, who had 
fought the cold and drought of twelve thousand alti¬ 
tude for hundreds of years, small mats and patches of 
flowers, short-stemmed or stemless, a few grasses, and 
very small shrubs. 

They pushed on to a high, open stretch of ledge. 
Above them and to the east towered the wall, whose 
peaks, they knew, looked down on the desert valley, 
two miles’ sheer depth below. By a shining lake they 
camped, pausing in their work to listen now to the 
bark of the coney, now to the marmot’s whistle—and 
now to the sound of avalanche! 

That night, by starlight, under a great, overhanging 
rock, Phebe held Mary Louise’s hind legs, while Emily’s 
harp-trained fingers played the sweet, rich milk into 
a bucket. And Phebe’s half-frightened eyes looked off 
from the granite ledge, at the edge of which she sat, 
down into the glassy lake, far below, where stars lay 
drowning, millions of miles below the surface, looked 


164 GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 

up at the stark, black cliffs towering all about, thou¬ 
sands of feet into the dark, starry sky; shivered when 
a meteor shot across the valley and lighted up the dark 
rocks close at hand, and the figure of Perdita milking 
Evelyn with no one to hold hind legs; and when, sud¬ 
denly, a huge rock broke loose high up on the cliff-side 
and thundered down, striking the lake with a mighty 
splash, Phebe sprang to her feet, her heart in her very 
throat. 

And Emily said fretfully: 

“Mercy, Phe, youVe made Mary Lou step into the 
bucket, and the milk’s all wasted!” 


CHAPTER XVII 


“andante sostenuto” 

J OE had to put in a day of hard work on the trail 
over Har’s Pass to Sea-Farring Camp, out of reach 
of the worst of those rock-dropping cliffs. Every one 
rejoiced in being “back” again in the high solitudes. 

“These bare mountains are ‘austere, terrible, and 
dear’,” declared Clara. ‘‘Those three adjectives sum 
them up. And they are dear as truly as they are aus¬ 
tere and terrible.” 

“I like the short-stemmed flowers best,” said Phebe. 
“Those down in the valley seemed bold. And up here 
there are no bugs!” 

“And I noticed,” remarked Emily, peering into a 
pocket mirror, “that Sylvia, lovely though she is, 
hasn’t as good a color as we have, red showing through 
brown.” 

“Red blood corpuscles, that’s all,” said Perdita in 
a tone to quench vanity’s hottest flame. “Thin air 
up here: your blood has to have more oxygen, so it 
has to make more red blood corpuscles to carry it. 
The doctor explained it to me.” 

“Well, whatever the reason is,” said Emily, “it 
makes you most awfully good-looking. I usually look 
165 


.i66 GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


like an underdone steak after a week at the seashore, 
but even I am much handsomer than I ever was, and 
Phebe’s stunning. Wish it would last.” 

Having finished her vanity investigations Emily put 
up her mirror and set about salting almonds, the oc¬ 
cupation of all others which connotes, in camp, a sense 
of being at peace with the world, and rich in leisure. 
Perdita was busy chipping the edges of her precious 
rock specimens, numbering them with blue paint and 
describing for each, in a note-book, the locality from 
which it came, even adding a list of flowers found 
growing in the neighborhood, because, as she said to 
Ruth: “If there are different chemicals in different 
rocks, I should think different kinds of flowers would 
grow where different rocks make the soil. And if the 
man I take these to to find out what they are shouldn’t 
know one of my specimens by anything else, that 
might decide him, knowing that polemonium grows in 
it, for instance. I suppose saxifrage grows on rock 
that’s easy to break. ’Spose stone crop likes special 
rock?” 

Phebe, overhearing, grew dreamy: 

“I wonder if there’s gold in the rock wherever yellow 
flowers grow, and sapphires or turquoises where lark¬ 
spur grows, and rubies where these lovely little deep 
red buckwheat blossoms are!” 

“Rubbish!” Perdita interrupted rudely. “Is that 
what the colors mean on that map you’re so busy 
over?” 


“ANDANTE SOSTENUTO” 167 

“That’s rubbish,” answered Phebe, somewhat an¬ 
noyed. “You don’t know much about maps, I guess. 
Daddy always has maps about, and he taught me when 
I was a baby that blue means water, and brown means 
hills and things like that, and black means things 
people make, like roads and trails and houses. I’m 
marking all our trail very carefully, in red ink, to show 
him when I get home. We do lots of travelling that 
way winters on the maps. You see,” turning to 
Ruth, who was looking interested, rather than to Perdita 
who was not, “Daddy gets out the Mt. Goddard sheet, 
for instance, and says to me: ‘Now, Fudge, you’re 
here, and you want to get there. How’re you going 
to do it?’ First, I used to make the most dreadful 
mistakes! I’d go right over the tops of peaks that per¬ 
haps nobody ever climbed, and I’d climb straight up 
one of those places where the brown contour lines are 
so close together you can’t see them apart, and Daddy 
would laugh and tell me how steep that place would be, 
and how I’d need a dozen fireman’s ladders to get up. 
And at first I couldn’t tell which way a river was 
running, or anything. It will be such fun to do it 
again now that I really know the mountains!” 

“Coming with me to bring in the goats, Chieftaine?” 
asked Clara, putting down her mending with a sigh, and 
stretching her back. “I heard coyotes very near camp 
last night, and I want to make sure those nannies are 
tied up near us before dark.” 

Down to the edge of the lake they went, looking for 


168 GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


little tracks, and listening now and then for the sound 
of the tiny Ladaki bells which all the goats wore. 
They found them presently, snapped their lead-ropes 
on, and began strolling back to camp, each leading two 
goats, stopping frequently to untangle ropes, or jerk a 
loiterer on. 

“I’m not so sure I want to be young, after all,” 
Clara confided. “Middle age has a terrible tendency 
to wear a ball and chain of accumulated habits and 
pseudo-obligations, which is crippling. But get free of 
that, as I have this summer, and what is left is ‘pure 
gold.’ You know who you are, at last, and what you 
are, limitations and possibilities, both, and you don’t 
surprise yourself so frequently. Did you notice that 
wretch Perdita just now, most neatly working at her 
own job, but when Phebe was not looking, taking pains 
to spill over Phebe’s work-bag? I actually saw her 
loosening the ends of the spools of thread! I mur¬ 
mured: ‘I am this, I am the other—and the devil is 
my brother.’ She didn’t hear me. She wouldn’t 
have cared, if she had.” 

“‘But my father, He is God,’” Ruth finished the 
lines. “The other line is: ‘And my mother is the 
sod,’ isn’t it? I never can recall the proper order, but 
it’s often in my head, as I deal with young things, or 
older ones, for that matter. I’m not so sure maturity 
makes such changes as you think, Santa Clara. I’m 
sure I’ve met graybeards whose reactions in a given set 
of circumstances were exactly the same that a five- 


“ANDANTE SOSTENUTO” 


169 

year-old boy would have. Maturity isn’t years. 
Mountains can give it in months. When you come 
down from the mountains in the autumn, you will see, 
for a space, so clearly! Every one’s inner motives seem 
revealed, until the mob-cloud dims your eyes again.” 

“O, I hadn’t thought of that! What a wonderful 
thing it will be! Here you are so sure !—And you can 
take that surety with you down below?” 

“For a while, yes. You know good from bad in 
pictures, in plays, in music as you never did before, 
quite independent judgments, but as unhesitant as a 
mystic’s convictions. You see the ridiculousness of 
accepted things like advertising—everybody yelling at 
the top of his lungs to make someone want what he 
wants to get rid of, and himself being yelled at and im¬ 
pressed, in turn! And the pathos and terror of the 
crowded towns! And you know which are the friends 
that matter, and which are the folk with whom only 
your externals can ever have contact. What a dread¬ 
ful way to express an interesting idea! It’s that pesky 
little Sugarplum’s fault! She has nearly tripped me 
up three times.” 

Clara stopped to gaze at a great patch of cassiope, tiny 
white bells close to the ground, each with a wee, red 
calyx, like a fairy-cap at the back of its bending head, 
each on a wee, red stem. 

“I suppose it wouldn’t grow at a low altitude,” she 
said at last. “Else I should have to transplant it. But 
at least, I’ve got it in my memory and imagination for- 


1 7 o GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 

ever. Come on, Evelyn! Time to get home and be 
milked, and have your little Navajo on, and go to bed 
under the big cliff.” 

They walked on in silence for some time. Presently 
Clara spoke again: 

“The impersonality of these places, and of our own 
life in them, is what impresses me most, Ruth. Do 
you always have girls so healthy-minded as these? 
Do you never get one who tries to have a crush on 
you, for instance ?” 

“Heaven forbid!” Ruth answered. “If she did, 
she’d be packed out at the first opportunity. No, 
neither here nor anywhere else do I meet that kind of 
thing. Of course, one needn’t. If the girl has any 
intelligence, she has only to be told that an excessive 
devotion to another girl or an older woman is a perver¬ 
sion of an instinct, and she understands, and saves her¬ 
self from ignominy. Of course, there may be some 
poor creatures who are all emotion, without any intelli¬ 
gence. They aren’t drawn to life in desolate moun¬ 
tain places, probably. At least, I’ve never diagnosed 
an applicant that way. Anyhow, I fancy crushes 
rather went out with Victorianism and mystery, gen¬ 
erally, don’t you? Probably some grown women, a 
generation ago, didn’t know, themselves, how to 
interpret such things.” 

“The poor old Queen!” Clara laughed. “She took 
a lot of responsibility on herself, in her day, but I 
don’t believe even she would have welcomed the posi- 


“ANDANTE SOSTENUTO’’ 171 

tion of cause to such a variety of effects as are attrib¬ 
uted to her nowadays.” 

“I know. Once I told a woman of an older genera¬ 
tion that I wore knickers in the mountains, adding, as 
I saw her look of disapproval, that it was dangerous to 
be impeded by skirts. She said nothing at the time, 
but a little later I discovered that she had climbed 
several difficult peaks, and done adventurous travelling 
of a sort to make my utmost seem like rolling about the 
Park in a perambulator. And you knew by looking 
at her that she had never worn anything but skirts 
and a sufficient quantity and length and fullness of 
them. I felt as rebuked as if the old Queen herself had 
snubbed me.” 

“Hoo-hoo-hoo!” A long shout from the top of 
Har’s Pass. “Joe, warning Jose to get the Java on. 
Hurry up, little goats. To-morrow we march to Sea- 
Farring Lake.” 

In the old days, Har’s Pass had not been fit for 
quadrupeds. Dynamite and labor under Ruth’s di¬ 
rection had now made it so: long, easy switchbacks 
and gentle grades, engineered with the welfare of the 
donkeys’ backs in view, rather than cheapness in the 
making. 

When the riders reached the top, they looked ahead 
with eagerness. At their left North Palisade towered 
into the sky. At its foot a glaciated valley stepped 
steeply down a giant staircase to Palisade Valley, far, 
far below. 


IJ2 


GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


“I suppose the top lake is Sea-Farring, but why do 
they call it that?” asked Clara. 

“Wait,” was all Ruth’s answer. 

They scrambled swiftly down over bare ledge to a 
narrow, grassy stretch at the lake’s rim. 

“Now look!” 

And lo! They looked out across the blue waters of 
a fjord to open sea! High rock walls on either side 
the long, narrow stretch of blue. Beyond, the sky— 
one rocky peak showing like an island miles arid miles 
away. 

“It only needs a sail to make the illusion perfect,” 
said Clara. 

“Or a gull,” suggested Emily, and suddenly touched 
Clara’s arm to make her look upward. An eagle 
soaring superbly. 

“The same pair come here year after year, I think,” 
said Ruth. “I’d give my head if I could band them. 
Now, you see why Sea-Farring suits this lake.” 

“Sea-Farring,” they all repeated the name with 
pleasure, none of them, not even Ruth, knowing its 
origin in a curly-headed boy’s reading aloud of Treasure 
Island, years before in a chimney-seat three thousand 
miles away. 

They turned back and gazed upward at the pinnacles 
of North Palisade, almost as high as the highest in all 
the hundred miles of scarp, and far more stately than 
some still higher. Emily and Perdita longed passion¬ 
ately to climb it. Not many people had yet done so. 


“ANDANTE SOSTENUTO” 


i 73 


according to the records which the Sierra Club so faith¬ 
fully tries to keep, and never a Three-Corner Round 
girl, Ruth had assured them, in the same breath in 
which she assured them that this season should not 
break that record. 

“The boys did,” whispered Perdita bitterly. “One 
boy so young he couldn’t spell the name of the town he 
lived in! Heliogabalus Sparakites! Why should being 
a Boy be wasted on a thing like Peter, and me have to 
be a Girl? And I want a rock from the very top.” 

There was a ring around the moon their second night 
there and Ruth declared she felt the “cool, sweet 
touch” on her cheeks that always foreboded snow. 
So tents were pitched, and beds, when made, carried 
into them. Joe, sharing Ruth’s foreboding, had had 
an extra supply of wood chopped and placed on end 
against the great rock which made a background 
for the kitchen. All the water-cans were filled, even 
though the lake was so near, and so were the goat¬ 
skin bags from Abyssinia, kept for emergency. A pit 
was dug to keep the water in the receptacles from 
freezing. The tools in the handy little sapper’s kit, 
which Applesauce Cake always carried at the head of 
the line, for road repairs, were ranged with care near 
the fire. And Manuel went ahead to Pot-Luck Pass, 
marking the trail with high ducks which would escape 
being buried in a fairly thick snow blanket. Reserve 
kyacks were ransacked for mittens, heavy sweaters, 
and high “snow-packs.” 


174 


GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


Every one felt pleasantly excited, and when sup¬ 
per was over, and all the girls were in bed in one 
tent, they were too full of friskiness to go to sleep. 
For a long time Clara and Ruth in another tent 
and Joe and the boys in theirs at a distance, heard 
“Brixham Town” and “O No, John” and “Leezie 
Lindsay,” interspersed with sounds of chattering and 
giggling. 

For the second time that season the bugle did not 
wake them. Emily opened her eyes wide, to darkness 
and silence. She shivered and curled closer into a 
ball, and waited, wondering why she was not sleepy. 
Her eyes felt cool and refreshed. She heard a rustling 
near by. 

“Perdy?” 

“Yes, I’m awake. Has she blown the bugle? I’ll 
not dip this morning.” 

“No. I think it’s midnight. Isn’t it awfully still? 
Do you suppose we’ve got insomnia?” 

“I wonder! I’m wide awake, but it’s pitch dark. 
Don’t wake Phebe. Hush! What’s that?” 

Steps outside. A thump on the tent wall. A heavy 
slide. A lighter patch appearing. Ruth’s voice. 

“Phebe! Emily! Coppertop! Wake up! It’s 
snowing hard. My tent was so dark I overslept. Joe 
has breakfast all ready. Get up and put on all your 
warm things.” 

The first, shivering peep out at a white whiteness, 
snow falling, still, nothing else to see anywhere. 


“ANDANTE SOSTENUTO” 


i75 


“Blessed Joe! Hot flapjacks, and bacon and cocoa!” 
“And even maple syrup!” “Anybody’d think it was an 
extra easy day to cook!” “Poor little goats! Hope 
their blankets didn’t slip off or get crooked. Evelyn 
always works out of hers.” “These snow-boots take 
forever to lace up.” “I’ve got two pairs of woollen 
stockings on and three pairs of mittens. Wish I had 
a football nose-pad!” “Do you suppose it’ll be good 
for snowballs ? We had a snow once at home that lasted 
long enough for us to make a snow-man!” “Once! 
You ought to live in Wisconsin!” 

All day long the snow fell. The girls ploughed 
through it blithely, but the poor little donkeys, with 
icicles hanging from their ears, huddled close to the 
tent walls, drearily. Joe and the girls fed them grain, 
and lumps of sugar, and talked to them cheerily, but 
a finger’s pressure on the small of the back would send 
a discouraged little animal down in a heap. 

“Dey’s desert canaries, dey is, not snow-birds,” 
Joe explained. “Dey didn’t enlist for no snow¬ 
storms.” 

Joe kept a good fire going constantly. In the late 
afternoon there came from his tent the sound of a 
mouth-organ. Perdita ran off in its direction. The 
others gathered in Ruth’s tent, round a big brazier of 
red coals, the open door showing the dancing flames 
from the master fire. Ruth read aloud the story of 
Stickeen, the little dog and the glacier and his human 
friend, John Muir. 


176 GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 

When she had finished, she was moved to poetry, 
and recited solemnly King Lear’s words: 

“ ‘ Poor naked wretches, wheresoe’er you are, 

That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm, 

How shall your houseless heads and unfed sides, 

Your loop’d and window’d raggedness, defend you 
From seasons such as these?’” 

As she repeated the last words, Clara lighted the 
candle-lanterns. Through the half-open door they 
saw Perdita in Joe’s big rubber coat on which the sleety 
snow glistened in the firelight. Perdita began to sing, 
high and clear: 

“‘Fire and sleet and candlelight 
This ae night and all. 

Fire and sleet and candlelight 
And Christ receive thy soule. 

“‘The Brig o’ Dread when thou hast passed 
This ae night and all 
To Whinny Muir thou comst at last 
And Christ receive thy soule. 

“ ‘If ever thou gavest hosen or shoon 
This ae night and all 
Sit thee down and put them on 
And Christ receive thy soule. 

“ ‘ If hosen or shoon thou never gavest nane 
This ae night and all 

The whins shall prick thee to the bare bane 
And Christ receive thy soule.’” 


“ANDANTE SOSTENUTO” 


177 


She got no further, for Phebe began to sob: 

“I want to go home! I want to go home! I want 
Mother and Daddy and Our Grandma! O, I want to 
go home.” 

Santa Clara and Emily came to the rescue, and 
Perdita, half scared, half pleased at the dramatic effect 
of her singing, felt around in a messy coatpocket and 
dug out a bar of chocolate, melted, and reshaped at the 
edges, which she poked under Phebe’s nose, saying: 

“Had to learn that for English once, and the ‘fire 
and sleet and candlelight’ made me think of it. Only 
the ‘sleet’ in the song means ‘salt’ really. Cheer up, 
kid! Joe says it’s clearing, and will be gorgeous to¬ 
morrow.” 

It was early for snowfalls. Our Brother the Sun 
broke through the clouds early the next day, and set 
to work drawing back Our Sister Water with all haste. 

That day was to live ever after in the girl’s memories 
as “The Misty Day.” After three months of days of 
sheer sunlight, even the rays beyond the violet unob¬ 
scured, and nights of clear starlight, varied only by 
sharp, definite rain-storms, quick to clear away, they 
greeted with marvelling delight the beauty of the mists: 
their delicate hesitancies, their soft, reluctant finger¬ 
ings, their momentary withdrawals, their floating ca¬ 
resses, their revelations and their concealments. 

Emily sang under her breath all day: “I found the 
trail of the mountain mist, the mountain mist.” Clara 
sought in the recesses of her mind for the words: 


178 


GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


“ ‘ I dimly guess what Time in mists confounds. 

But ever and anon a trumpet sounds 
From the hid battlements of Eternity. 

Those shaken mists a space unsettle, then 
Round the half-glimpsed turrets 
Slowly wash again/ ” 

And Perdita refrained from any flippant comment on 
‘Trumpet” and the morning “bugle,” for the spell of 
the beauty had caught even her. 

At times level bands of mist on North Palisade’s steep 
sides made the peak seem to rise, immeasurably remote. 
Veils played about it all day long. Sometimes the 
whole valley filled. They could watch, out on their 
open sea, the tops of billowy white clouds rising, ap¬ 
proaching. Presently they themselves were enveloped 
in cool wetness. Then the cloud passed up the face 
of the mountain. 

At sunset they gathered to watch the mists color, 
deeply content. “This clear air is ideal for camping,” 
Ruth remarked. “But I should feel desperately de¬ 
frauded if we never saw the mountains ‘haze-cradled.’ 
For the most part the Sierras are like Arnold’s view of 
Truth in his boyhood: 

“‘The mountain-tops where is the throne of Truth, 

Tops in life’s morning sun so bright and bare!’ 

Bright and bare and near at hand, looking easy to 
scale. To-day ‘in cloudy air’ they are high, really high, 
as they always look to old climbers.” 


“ANDANTE SOSTENUTO” 


179 

“Yes, you need the mists to get perspective,” agreed 
Clara. “See, Phebe dear, Ruth means: that peak 
really is far away. The sun on the first two days we 
were here was deceptive. You thought that even 
you could climb it in an hour or two. To-day you 
know you couldn’t, in hours and hours.” 

“That reminds me,” Ruth put in hurriedly to avert 
a speech from Perdita. “Why don’t you three go up 
on Pot-Luck Pass to-morrow early to see the sunrise? 
The snow will be gone enough for easy walking, and 
it’s a rare view. You could take the Letters to Nine 
Mothers along, and see if you think Quarter-Mistress 
described accurately.” 

“Good!” from Emily and Phebe, with a half-hearted 
echo from Perdita. And “I’ll go, too,” said Santa 
Clara. “Coppertop, it’s our turn to put up lunch 
together. ‘Per man, per meal: one twelfth pound 
butter, one half pound bread, one third pound cheese, 
a lot of dates and an orange!’” 


CHAPTER XVIII 


POT-LUCK PASS 

QO THE sunrise found them huddled close together 
for warmth on the top of the pass dividing Sea- 
Farring from the next valley draining like it down into 
Palisade. 

And Clara read from the typescript: 

“ 5:30 A.M. August 11. 

“Camp Pot-Luck Up 

“I am wearing a mackinaw of Ed's, and a scarlet 
blanket. 

“I am squatting on a pass. The moon, rather frayed 
out, is visible over my nearest peak, and certain dis¬ 
tant ones are crowned with sun. The valley below me, 
known from last year as the Valley of Elmer’s Wrath, 
lies in deep shadow, its lakes still black, with white 
reflections of snow in them. Beside one of the lakes 
(half filled with blue ice and white, real, not reflected) 
I can see a few black dots, which I know to be at Camp 
Pot-Luck Down. 

“On the trail which winds down the steep face of the 
mountain, are the figures of Sahib, Stu, Ed, and Roger, 
moving down. 

“From the upper part of the valley, I hear donkey- 
bells and shouts. In Sea-Farring Valley behind me, on 

180 


POT-LUCK PASS 


181 




the other side of the pass, whereon I, squaw-like, squat, 
are more donkey-bells, and no shouts. 

“I wonder if all these statements mean anything to 
you? 

“ Behold the interpretation thereof: 

“At dawn yesterday, Quarter-Mistress’ Camp, in the 
Valley of Elmer’s Wrath, was astir: blankets folding, 
a huge lunch being put up, final packing and balancing, 
then the arrival of donkeys, saddling, packing, and ‘en 
avant.’ We came down the mountain side last year, 
and the Sahib, with the aid of three little boys and 
block and tackle, could do it all in one day with only 
twenty donkeys—but going up, with forty donkeys, 
is different. Tall work has been done on the trail in 
the last week, and we have five big boys to work besides 
two little ones, but nightfall found us with only twenty- 
three donkeys up (more than last year’s total, to be 
sure) and almost as many more below. 

“So Bill was sent below with Jack and Pat and Dave, 
to make one camp there (where we met a snow-storm 
last year) and the rest of us unpacked the twenty-three 
and made camp on the pass itself. No firewood at 
either camp—all the cheese gone, but we had two huge 
loaves of bread, and plenty of butter and marmalade 
and a little fruit. 

“The donkeys, looking no bigger than aphides on 
rose-bushes, are being driven into Pot-Luck Down. 
I can tell the boys by their silhouettes and manner of 
walking—Dave by his high, little shrieks, very different 
from his conversational tones. 

“The perverse little beasts are going ‘forty ways 
for Sunday’ among the boulders, and the drivers keep 
dodging after them, heading them off, and urging them 
on. 


182 


GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


“This is the awkward squad down below, all donkeys 
with a bad record segregated and kept to the last. 

“The shivering fellows in camp, waiting for the on¬ 
slaught, are moving about, hands in pockets, and talk¬ 
ing, I suppose. 

“The slope on which the trail lies is about 30° from 
the horizontal at best, and in certain spots it is 90°. 

“At one spot the trail comes up on a great stretch of 
smooth rock about eighty feet, where the block and 
tackle are needful to prevent a backslider’s falling. 
This rock the boys covered with donkey dung last night 
to make a show of precedence and familiarity for to¬ 
day’s bunch. 

“Once up that rock, you come to a flight of six pre¬ 
carious stairs, followed by a zigzag along perfectly 
smooth rock, and then a swift rush upward. Two 
ropes and pulleys, one in Sahib’s hands and one in 
Roger’s, guide up the stairs and zigzag, Roger pulling 
when the donkey is headed in one direction, and Sahib 
when he is headed in the opposite, one boy leading him, 
and another Touching him up’ from behind. After a 
few sharp switchbacks comes a huge rock, past which 
many donkeys have to be steered—then a compara¬ 
tively easy stretch (though a narrow trail, on slidy stuff, 
with a long way to fall) and then another handsome 
staircase, where a fall would be fatal, more block and 
tackle, and a last steep pull up to the pass itself. 

“Boys and burros behaved pretty well yesterday, 
but the process had to be slow. To-day’s better organ¬ 
ization and earlier start may compensate for the greater 
awkwardness of the particular donkeys involved— 
but no one knows. 

“Nothing but bread and butter and jelly to eat, for 
two or three meals, may subtract from the boys’ en- 


POT-LUCK PASS 


183 

ergy, though I have great faith in that precious bread— 
and there is stimulus in butter and sugar. There 
should be a sup of goat’s milk all ’round, too. 

“Wish the sun would come up. I’m congealing 
my fingers. 

“We went to bed when the sun went down. Most 
of our blankets were at Pot-Luck Down, but we made 
a comfortable bed all the same. Sahib was not sleepy, 
only weary, so as long as the light lasted, I read to 
him: the whole book of Ruth . What an exquisite tale 
it is with one lovely little scene after another! And 
then random, beautiful passages from Bridges’s Spirit 
of Man , till he fell asleep like a baby, and I, who had 
had no work all day, but only watching and waiting, 
lay awhile, watching the stars till sleep came to me, too. 

“Donkeys all in, below, and saddling going swiftly 
forward. It should with eight saddlers, and only 
seventeen animals. 

“The snow will be hard when they cross. That 
means a good start. 

“The twilight arch was superb this A. M. 

“The light has struck the top of the heap of roches 
moutonees among which we had our last camp. What 
a dark valley is this of Elmer’s Wrath! The sun went 
down early in it yesterday, too. 

“A ton of provisions lies in the cache beyond the 
next valley and the next pass. 

“Yesterday, the 10th, was Ed’s birthday. Stu told 
him he spent it ‘at the circus all day.’ We had his 
camp birthday cake the 8th, and his birthday jelly, 
hoarded since base camp, the 9th. His cake from home 
he will find when we get to the cache. I think he will 
always remember his 18th birthday. 

“He and Stu ran down to a little lake, half snow 


184 GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 

and half water, and took a dip last night before sup¬ 
per! 

“The bells have all been tied, and I see the Sahib 
moving about among his silently working henchmen. 

“The little cairn on the pass here has got the sun. 

“Later. I left you then, to go and get Bilks big 
sheepskin coat for myself, and a slice of bread with 
chunks of butter. I had no appetite when the boys ate 
at 5:30. It's 6:30 now and the sun has got to my 
broad ledge. It is just touching Pot-Luck Down. 

“My bed is in order, and I may take another nap by 
and by, or else I shall just drop off here in the sun. 

“IPs beginning! I hear a shout ‘Pat! Wake up!’ 

“Poor Pat and Dave find it hard literally to wake up 
at these hours. Dave caused his Sahib to walk several 
extra miles yesterday because he had dozed on duty, 
and got called down for it, too, poor kid, though he is 
just barely eleven. 

“Sahib is up at the first block and tackle place, 
getting ready for action: parka, coat, and now shirt, 
—off! He wears a tarn o’ shanter out here, very be¬ 
coming. He is inevitably picturesque in the moun¬ 
tains, looking now like a pastoral patriarch, now like an 
Indian, now like an astrologer, and, when he combined 
the tarn with his camel’s hair sleeping-jacket the other 
day, like a jolly Jack Tar. 

“ Roger has lost his razor and has entered into competi¬ 
tion with the Sahib. Jack has been downy all summer. 

“Hee-haw-w-w! Which poor little beast is that, I 
wonder, foreseeing the hour of ordeal? 

“Our best donkeys can go up these bad places without 
help, but alas! ‘best’ donkeys are very scarce. 

“I can see Stu’s pirate bandanna down there. It 
seems to me it takes them forever to saddle and pack. 


POT-LUCK PASS 


i g 5 

They can do it in 4 minutes per donkey, which is sup¬ 
posed to be fair (four boys last year got to a 3 J minute 
average, all working at once) and 4 x 17 = 68, which is 
a perceptible time by a watch. We have never had a 
really quick boy since Ray, back in our Year One. Now 
and then, one is quick in some respects, but the general 
effect is glacieristic—demonstrable, but not readily 
perceptible, 

“Even yet the sun has not got the whole little valley. 
The lake’s white reflections show in green water now, 
instead of in black. An unseen stream roars steadily, 
and now and then I hear a faint bird-tweet. (I sup¬ 
pose a person who knows birds would hear many more.) 

“Pat found a queer, eight-legged beast yesterday— 
looked to me like a glorified tick, rather squashed and 
stepped-on—about f of an inch long—a sort of ani¬ 
mated bit of fungus. 

“And Dave found more of his soil-ice columns, which, 
after his first discovery of them, we read about in 
Shaler: how on sharp mornings, when air is colder than 
soil, moving soil-water freezes in small dabs between 
earth particles, moves up, continuing to freeze from the 
bottom as more water comes along, till you find tiny 
columns, sometimes six inches high before the sun is 
up, close but not touching, sometimes carrying small 
stones or dirt which they have pushed up. They ex¬ 
tend a bit below ground, too. They look like fairy 
stalagmites. 

“Why don’t they start? They look like so many 
little Noah’s Ark wooden figures; perhaps they’re 
eating again before they start. 

“I have made my ablutions up here, in a pool left 
where snow has melted, and I have a pocket comb and 
tooth floss. 


186 GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


“At last! They move—their long shadows making 
a path ahead of them and under them on the snow. Stu 
is leading, I think: I recognize a kind of pump-handle 
effect of his arm, when his donkey balks suddenly. 
Three donkeys. Then Roger in his tall cowboy hat. 
Here is little Dave in Stu’s long breeches, making him 
look like a Dutch boy. Ed, I think: more stocky 
than some of them. Pat with his elbows up in a tri¬ 
angle. 

“A stoppage: trouble somewhere. Roger’s big voice 
booming out: ‘Go on, Pete!’ More little donkeys 
stepping out in the snow, each one in the tail of his own 
shadow. That wide-stepping, loose-jointed boy is 
Jack. ‘Whoo-up!’ ‘Get up there!’ 

“Bill, lunch-bag in hand, lead-rope over his shoul¬ 
der, hauling the last of the awkward squad, and driving 
the next-to-the-last before him. 

“The first ones are coming on pretty well, glimpsed 
amid the rocks. Bill’s big sheepskin is getting too 
warm for me. 

“‘Hi!’ (Dave) 

“Bronze Buddha Sahib awaiting their arrival in 
silence. 

“I see this: a donkey’s pack; two vertical ears; 
Stu’s pump handle: Stu’s bandannaed head. 

“‘Etta! Etta!’ (Jack) ‘Get up there—Et -ta!’ 
Etta is a delicate, fine-lady donkey with pretty ways, 
(‘Etta! Get up there, Etta!’) perfectly capable of any 
work, but choosing most capriciously to be coaxed and 
urged, and given without provocation to lying down 
limply and acting dead. If any boy ever says to any 
girl: ‘You remind me of Etta,’ said girl may know her 
goose is cooked. 

“‘Bill! (something inaudible)’ (Sahib) 


POT-LUCK PASS 


187 

“‘All right!’ (Bill) 

“Faint echoes of ‘Get up there!’ 

“Moving again. ‘Hee— -hazv!’ 

“‘Bill - inaudible -’ (Sahib) , 

- - - - inaudible’ (Bill) 

“‘Oh Lord!’ (Sahib) 

“Chorus: ‘Get up! Get up!’ 

“(I didn’t know I was taking notes of a play. I’ll 
adopt the usual arrangement.) 

“Enter ears and packs, rising into sight, disap¬ 
pearing, heaving like waves. 

“Sahib. Jack, you stay with those fool donkeys 
till the rest are up. (One of those 
donkeys Dave always calls ‘ Big ’Nor- 
mous Stupid.’) 

“Sahib. Pat, that’s all right! Leave it alone! 

“Enter first donkey, with Stu, at dung-covered 
rock. 

“Enter Roger, second block and tackle man. 

“Sahib. Dave, what are you doing? Wake up! 

“Sahib. What’s the matter with you fellows? 

“Sahib. Let go of that brute! 

“Sahib. Let go of that brute! 

“Enter Donkey No. 2. I can’t tell them apart at 
this distance. 

“Exeunt 1 and 2, in apparent calm, out of my sight 
at least. 

“Jack. (From far below). ‘Get up!’ 

“Absolutely nothing in sight now, except a possible 
gray-black rump and—there!—a switching tail. I 
should prefer a better seat, but I should probably be 
ordered out of it if I got into one, as ‘dangerous.’ 

“Sahib. ‘Take him down! Get out! Lookout!* 

“Re-enter Roger and No, 1 or 2, posture of ears 



188 


GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


indicating alarm. Apparently an attempt was made 
without the ropes and abandoned. Ropes getting 
into action. Ed has stripped to waist. One waving 
tail far down. One loaded back. Silence. No one 
in sight. The lake’s reflection sun-lit now, growing 
vague in freezing-over of surface: ‘Immovably un¬ 
quiet: it trembles, but it cannot pass away.’ 

“Jack (far below—in sight, hauling hard). 
Get up here! 

“Bronze Sahib and blue-bodiced Roger show over 
a boulder—now seen hauling tackle. 

“Someone. Pat! 

“Enter No. 3 over rock. 

“Some one . ‘Damn you! Get up there.’ 
“Lead-rope tossed up through air. 

“Ed. ‘Hey, Pat! Come here?’ 

“No. 3 looking back. I think I recognize No. 3 
as Pinyon by his black nose. Arrives Pat to hold No. 3 
while rope is attached. Ed is hauling tackle. 

“Enter No. 4 and Bill. 

“Enter No. 1 above, Sahib leading, No. 2 with 
Roger—no telling what struggle, hidden behind the 
rocks, successfully over. It’s like a Greek tragedy, 
mostly oflF stage. More hand-over hand hauling at 
upper level. 

“Sahib: Get a long lead-rope. Wait till I’m 
ready. Clear below? 

“Jack (far below) Get up! 

“I judge a donkey has fallen, for I see a figure lifting 
packs. He is probably down on his side, being un¬ 
packed and encouraged and beaten, systematically and 
steadily, not brutally. There seems to be something 
about the rhythmic effect that eventually reaches the 
brain-cells. 


POT-LUCK PASS 


189 

“Sahib. ‘Can you spare a boy down there?’ 

“This play is going on on three levels and all the way 
between. Pat comes into view, odd overalled shape 
with soup-bowl hat. 

“I was interrupted by a call: ‘Kate, you could be 
useful here,’ and I sped down, eager to help—and 
plunged into an endless moment, when a rock, dislodged 
by my carelessness, crashed down, and I knew all those 
boys were at various points below. I shouted: ‘Look 
out!’ steadily through the long descent of it, and every¬ 
one else shouted, and no one was hurt—mercifully— 
not even a donkey. 

“Now I am far away, up at the foot of the last steps, 
on duty, guarding donkeys as Pat brings them to me, 
not only out of harm’s way myself, but beyond the 
possibility of hurting any one else. 

“The Sahib has often said to me it was surprising 
that boys who were clumsy (with hands and feet 
growing large overnight in a regular Alice in Wonder¬ 
land fashion) and absent-minded (heads full of ‘peachy 
thoughts, ’ as one said) should be so careful and alert in 
really dangerous places. When I see how easy it was 
to dislodge that rock, and recall that they have worked 
trail for days and days, with no worse bruise than one 
pounded toe, I appreciate their presence of mind. I 
was still half dreaming, on my ledge where I had been 
writing to you. 

“A prolonged bray from below sets the twelve ears 
of my waiting charges all agog. Old Coupe Oreille is 
ashamed at being classed with the awkward squad. 
He had a fall or fight one night recently, and is still 
bandaged. He looks as though he would love to tell 
me how high his pulse and temperature have been, 
and how anxious the doctors have been about him! 


GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


190 

What a bore he would probably be if he could speak! 
And I’m really fond of him—mute. 

“Pat brings Frere Jacques. 

“The pink primroses all around me are very like 
those you and your mothers and neighbors have had 
in pots. And the tall seeded grasses beside them ap¬ 
pear to my eye the exact fellows of those mother and 
I cut with shears on the Michillinda lawn once. Per¬ 
haps they are. 

“Oh, I am so thankful I haven’t one of you looking 
accusingly at me over a bumped boy’s head. I didn’t 
mind a bit (except for the start of surprise and pain) 
when one of them knocked a stone on to my head— 
what a difference it makes! 

“The dearest wee chipmunk! Don’t you love the 
way they move their tails ? 

“I can see five lakes, large and small, from here. 

“Roger’s rowing calluses are excellent for block 
and tackle work. 

“One of my charges, that nuisance, Donatello, started 
back and I had to climb over some large scree to head 
him off. I can’t recall what shy, fawn-like look he had 
that made me give him that classic name. He doesn’t 
show it now, poor thing. 

“Imagine wearing all the stuff a donkey does, en 
route: 

one hair pad 36" x 36" x 1" 

one blanket, folded triple 

one canvas blanket-cover 

one saddle, with breast-collar and breeching, besides 
cinch, and pull-collar with long strap to attach him to 
another donkey 

two saddle cushions to keep pack from pressing too hard 

one bell collar and great bell 


POT-LUCK PASS 


191 

one halter 

two side packs 

one top pack 

one tarpaulin 

“We call the pack a hundred pounds and don’t count 
the rest of the weight. 

“Pat, bringing Etta, reports Gossoon as having fallen, 
even with block and tackle on him, and his pack having 
gone down the mountain: honey, tea, malted milk and 
dynamite soup. 

“Here comes Big ’Normous Stupid. Her little brass 
tag glints in the sun. 

“There will have to be a lot of re-tagging done at 
Cache Camp if we ever get there. 

“We can’t get there for two days more after this, 
but we have fifty pounds of bacon and almost a hundred 
pounds of flour, and a lot of flourishes besides. 

“I don’t think it would hurt any of your comfort¬ 
ably nourished sons to be really hungry once. 

“The weather is superb. Cirrus has no significance 
here, apparently. We thought we were surely in for 
a storm, but no August day at low altitudes could be 
more balmy than this. When your eye follows up a 
great, white granite wall to the sky, the depth of the 
blue thrills you. It is paler on the distant horizon 
overshadowed or darker rock peaks. 

“Big ’Normous Stupid is sniffing at me. Her ears 
are like great cornucopias. 

“Twelve up here now—five more to come. 

“Sahib was getting pretty vehement when I was last 
within earshot. He must have sworn at me when I 
slipped that rock, but I was too far gone to hear him. 
Oh yes, I remember his asking me: ‘Why?’ As though 
I had a purpose! 


192 


GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


“My big lake is dark green now—and no reflections. 
In the course of a day a lake will pass through the 
whole gamut of blues, in its reflections. I have seen, 
from a divide, naught but black and gray mountains, 
patched with white of snow—and deep in a tarn a bit 
of pure robin’s egg blue from the sky. And some¬ 
times we see, from above, a pale yellow delta, all under 
water in a blue lake. 

“There are no fish in any of these cold little lakes 
in our high country. Only the lakes on the Forest 
Service trails are stocked. 

“Four thousand or more feet down, and miles and 
miles away, runs the Muir Trail from Whitney to 
Yosemite, dusty, sign-posted, be-traveiled, by stream 
after stream, and lake after lake, full of golden and rain¬ 
bow trout and fish-hooks. 

“It is hard to realize how near that ‘Broadway’ 
is, while we are so secluded. No sight or sound of folk, 
save one day late last month. 

“Later. I turned over my charges to Dave and came 
back to the pass. 

“And just as I was spreading bread with butter and 
marmalade against the coming of my own, along came 
two strange pedestrians, or rather two climbing men! 
They ate what I dared give them, with gusto, having 
been out for a month with only knapsack provisions. 

“The aforesaid are carrying this out. 

“Sahib’s and the boys’ greetings would go with it to 
you all if they were near. They are out of sight now, 
doing the last stretch and have been for hours. 

“Quarter-Mistress.” 


























































































































Suffering Kittens! The Sleeping Beauty in Triplicate! 





CHAPTER XIX 


OLD BOYS 



T FIRST they had gone out to the point of rock 


1 which must have been Quarter-Mistress’s lookout, 
commanding the whole valley and the trail, but a cold 
breeze drove them back a bit to the pass itself in the 
shelter of some great rocks, in the sun. (“Out of the 
wind and in the sun” is a phrase summing up the 
camper’s idea of comfort.) 

As Clara read, they nibbled away at the good food 
in their lunch-bags. The climb of four miles and 
more from camp had made them a wee bit weary, and 
now, with food and the warm sun, and leisure, drowsi¬ 
ness came upon them. All four settled into comfort¬ 
able positions, and dozed off, Emily murmuring sadly: 
“To think that in all my life I’ve never been sworn at!” 

The girls were shortly miles deep in slumber, but 
Clara’s ear caught a sound that brought her up, sitting. 
Voices! And a donkey’s bray, on the wrong side of the 
pass. It could not be Joe or the boys. She gathered 
her cape about her, and sought the lookout. 

The new trail, broad and neat, displayed all its zig¬ 
zags to her gaze. No one on it. The voices came 
again, far but distinct, and she looked more to the right 


GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


194 

of the trail, and saw moving figures of men and ani¬ 
mals. 

“They seem to be hauling on ropes,” she said to her¬ 
self, unbelieving. “I must be dreaming.” 

A little gust of wind brought her two shouted words: 

“Etta!” and 

“Coises!” 

She could make out six or eight men and about as 
many donkeys. One of the men was especially tall, 
one short and stocky, and one wore a red bandanna, 
not an uncommon species of headgear in the mountains. 

The rope-hauling seemed to be over, and she saw 
them all move upward, but presently operations began 
as before, at a higher level. Santa Clara pressed her 
hands together in excitement: 

“It’s precisely like the description. I wonder! 
Could it be? Three-Corner Round old boys, back, 
doing the old trail with ropes for sport? What an 
incredible coincidence!” 

She watched till they were out of sight again, then 
got behind a rock for shelter from the breeze, and 
waited, intending to wake her girls before the invasion, 
yet reluctant to do so too soon, partly because she 
thought they could do with a good sleep, but more 
because she was afraid lest Perdita, if she understood 
what was going on, might disgrace herself by dashing 
down to make inquiries. 

“T11 wake them just before the men get here,” she 
told herself, and started as she heard just below her: 


OLD BOYS 


195 

“Confound this ass! He’s so lazy his blood won’t cir¬ 
culate!” 

She put her head close to the ground and peered 
around her rock. 

A tall, fair-bearded man was bending over a ridiculous 
little donkey, apparently trying to feel its pulse. A 
slighter fellow behind was amusing himself in an 
enforced wait, by throwing a butterfly net over the 
ears of his ungainly beast. 

“Well, come along up, Cockleburr,” said the first 
man, making an entry in a note-book and jerking at 
the lead-rope. But Cockleburr was as if rooted. 

“Let’s try a song to stimulate him,” suggested the 
other chap, and the two promptly roared out: 

‘“The damn police, the damn police, 

The damn police are on your trail—■* 

Hi there! Up he goes! Come on, Petrology! 

“ ‘ The sweetest girl you ever knew 
Will soon begin to weep and wail: 

The damn police, the damn police, 

The damn police are— here!’” 

Clara came to her feet, but too late. With one rush 
both men and donkeys had passed her. She saw them 
stop short. She heard: 

“Suffering kittens! The Sleeping Beauty in tripli¬ 
cate!” 

Three little girls in golden-green middies and knick¬ 
ers, each with a big §> embroidered on her sleeve, lay 


196 GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 

sleeping among the rocks before them. And from 
behind them, a woman in blue-gray appeared, saying 
casually: 

“Are the rest of the boys and the donkeys stuck ?” 

They snatched off their hats, and caught their open 
shirts together, but both were dumb, open-mouthed 
for an instant. Then Stuart joined them—dark face 
with scarlet head-dress and girdle and earrings of 
silver and turquoise, saying: 

“Good afternoon—or is it still morning?” 

“I’m glad you have your manners with you,” ex¬ 
claimed Roger. “We lost ours. Look ahead—and 
you’ll see why!” 

“Three-Corner Round?” Stu gasped. 

“Yes,” said Santa Clara, “that’s what they 
are, though they seem more like the Seven Sleepers. 
Phoebe! Emily! Coppertop! Wake up, wake up! 
The Old Boys have come!” 

“If they’re the real thing, it’ll take more than that 
to rouse them!” And Red Bandanna suddenly ut¬ 
tered a long, loud: 

“All-1-1-1 UP!!!!!” 

Instantaneous response. The girls came awake sud¬ 
denly and completely and burst into excited speech: 

“I thought I dreamed it!” “Is that the way they 
used to get you up? We have to have a bugle!” 
“You’re Stu with the pirate earrings!” “Aren’t you 
hungry? I’ve got two sandwiches left!” “O, here 
come more of them!” 



OLD BOYS 


197 


Roger had introduced himself and Pat by now, and 
would have named the newcomers, but Perdita begged: 

“Please, let us guess. I think one of the very red¬ 
cheeked ones must be Dave, only his hat’s fairly new¬ 
ish.” 

“Right 0! And the long-legged other is his brother 
Jim of the Very First Expedition, now our literary art¬ 
ist. Did nothing but smoke in the difficult parts of the 
trail.” 

“O, I know,” Perdita was rapturous. “Joe told us 
‘dot Chimmy’ wasn’t much use. But he likes you!” 
she added quickly, and Jim’s face lighted with pleas¬ 
ure as he exclaimed: 

“Old Joe with you! That is a little bit of all right.” 

“Aren’t you going to guess me?” asked a most 
disreputably-clad creature, with a hat-brim nibbled 
to scallops. 

“Maybe you’re Ed,” faltered Phebe. “The ‘Let¬ 
ters’ said when Ed’s face was dirty it got an even gray 
all over!” 

There was a roar of laughter which confused Phebe, 
but the butt of the joke answered her gravely: 

“Ed’s not here. Couldn’t get away, else I’m sure 
you’d see an even dark gray. I am Har, inventor of 
the—Can it be you don’t know what I am famous for?” 
He looked appealingly at the girls, and Emily answered: 

“ Fruit flopovers. Please show me how to make them. 
Where’s Charley?” 

“Last heard of in Bohemia or Roumania, or some- 


i 9 8 GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 

where. They say he married a Balkan princess, got 
sick of the court, and she and he, with their fiddles, 
vanished overnight a year ago, and naebody kens whaur 
they gaed to.” 

“Are all the rest of you here?” asked Perdita eagerly, 
running to the edge to look down the trail. 

“No, only eight altogether. Jack is cleaning up a 
few bits of the world-map that are still marked Un¬ 
explored. Barrett has just married a wife. Ray is 
councillor at a Canadian camp. Nobody knew Bill’s 
address. They say that fellow never writes letters. 
Odo is starting a chain of book-shops in China. Leif 
and Elmer’ll be along soon. Leif’s usually last, and 
Elmer stopped to make a note or two for his chief. 
He’s in the Forestry Service, and got off for this affair 
on the promise of looking up some things for his chief. 
There’s Leif singing now.” 

“‘Jog on, j°g on, the footpath way 
And merrily hent the stile-a! 

Your merry heart goes all the way, 

Your sad tires in a mile-aF” 

The singer, ruddy and round, swept off his wide 
Stetson with a beautiful bow to the ladies. 

“I’ve always been expecting to meet the Three- 
Corner Round girls, but I didn’t suppose they took 
such high country as this. Have you still got Buck?” 

“Buck!” jeered Stu. “He must have been pen¬ 
sioned ten years back. He was superannuated when 


OLD BOYS 


199 

we had him. Now, a really good donkey like Apple¬ 
sauce-” 

“Ya-ah!” 

“Buck is the best donkey-” 

“The best leader in the outfit-” 

“Me for Shrimp and the Shrimp family!” 

“Jacob’s an intelligent donkey!” 

“Nigger’s the smart one! Ever try to steal a ride on 
Nigger?” 

“It sounds just like the donkeys when they see the 
nose-bags,” said Emily thoughtfully. “I suppose 
braying is a kind of talking.” 

“Or talking a kind of braying,” suggested Pat. 
“Have you got goats this year?” 

“What’s all the row?” asked Elmer, arriving, trim 
and clean, in forestry green uniform. “You fellows 
seem to have forgotten the donkeys altogether. They’re 
huddled back there out of the wind. We may have to 
use the block again to get them the rest of the way— 
My goodness! I said to myself: ‘It isn’t Quarter- 
Mistress?”’ 

“Not quite, but it is the old outfit, or what it has 
grown into. Will you have a sandwich, Elmer? I’m 
not sure Emily’s bread is as good as yours.” 

“It’s better’n any I ever made,” vowed Elmer, 
taking a bite. “It tastes like the old kind. You take 
fifteen yeast cakes-” 



CHAPTER XX 


CAMP-FIRE AND STARLIGHT 

T HE girls’ eyes were shining as bright as the stars 
that night. 

The boys had made their camp a half mile above 
Sea-Farring on some great ledges, but at Ruth’s invi¬ 
tation they joyously swarmed down to the lake-side 
in time to help get an early supper. 

Jim and Joe wrung hands in silence, and Jim followed 
Joe about all through the hour of supper-getting with: 
“Joe, do you remember?” and: “I say, Joe, have you 
still got your mouth-organ?” and: “I’m going to have 
coffee to-night, Joe, make no mistake about that. 
I’m grown-up now, Joe.” And Joe would answer: 
“Get along, you Chimmy. Don’t bodder me.” 

Dave and Pat helped Emily milk, marvelling at the 
steady stream she sent into the bucket. 

Perdita, fascinated by Stu’s piratical appearance 
(he even had a black pig-tail!), hovered over him while 
he seasoned a huge kettle of soup, tasting critically 
again and again. 

Elmer begged the privilege of making a custard. 
Roger and Harlan did good work on the wood-pile. 


200 


CAMP-FIRE AND STARLIGHT 


201 


Leif ran away to pay his respects to the donkeys, barely 
turning up in time to eat. 

Phebe tucked her hand into Clara’s. 

“Isn’t it lovely?” she whispered. “It feels like 
when Daddy comes home!” 

Clara squeezed her hand a bit. “I was thinking it 
was like the day my brothers came home for the holi¬ 
days. They are nice fellows.” 

“Oh, aren’t they? I’m so proud of being a Three- 
Corner Rounder!” 

“Supper!” Jim announced in a loud voice, as Joe 
took the curried rice and the lima beans from the cooker, 
and Stu brandished the soup ladle shouting: “Every¬ 
body gets a cup and a half!” 

The outlying members of the party gathered eagerly. 
There was a shortage of plates and cups, but adjust¬ 
ments were quickly made. 

“Eight extra men, equivalent to about sixteen wo¬ 
men, unexpected guests, Chieftaine,” said Leif, fitting 
himself into a very small space between Ruth and 
Roger. “Won’t it strain your larder badly? We 
really are used to being rationed, you know.” 

“I’ve carried an emergency week’s rations for years,” 
replied Ruth, “and have always had to hunt up some¬ 
one to appreciate it as a gift when I got down. It will 
be rather fun to have less to dispose of this time.” 

“Then the emergency is sure to happen,” said Stu. 
“I think some of us ought to see the ladies home, 
fellows.” 


202 


GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


“Wish we all could/’ said Roger, “but I’m due out by 
day after to-morrow at the latest.” 

“So’m I, worse luck!” muttered Dave. “Why do 
they open universities in October? It’s the best 
month of the year to be out.” 

“I could go back with you,” Harlan put in. “You’re 
going out by Taboose, of course? I was going out 
over Bishop, but I’ve a good week’s leeway, and I’d like 
nothing better than to go back the way we came in.” 

“How was the Pass?” asked Ruth. 

“Rotten. Hardly any animals have been over. 
We had to spend two full days making it reasonable 
for our beasts. The last outfit left blood all along the 
way. Our little beasts were a rum lot, but we didn’t 
want to murder them, for all that.” 

“I’d go back with you, too, Chieftaine, if I could,” 
said Elmer, taking another bite of Emily’s bread, 
“but I have to go on to the King’s to make some notes 
on mountain hemlock. The chief’s getting out a new 
report for the department.” 

“We’ll go,” said Pat and Jim together. 

“It looks like gallantry, madam,” said Roger, “but 
I misdoubt it’s the grub. They’ve not had anything 
like this for nearly two weeks.” 

“Why, I thought you could all cook wonderfully,” 
cried Emily reproachfully, “and I never tasted such a 
good soup in my life!” 

“O, we can cook, all right, when we’ve the ingre¬ 
dients. ‘Cooking is only the application of heat and 


CAMP-FIRE AND STARLIGHT 


203 


intelligence to ingredients,’ a great international 
lawyer once said. But this time, my dear young lady, 
ingredients were lacking! When you pack everything 
for eight men for two weeks on six numskull donks, and 
have to pack the donks themselves a good part of the 
way-” 

“And are taking fifty pounds of block and tackle for 
sentiment!” 

“And we’re not up to fresh cheeses from Holland, or 
sweet Valencia oranges bought off the trees and se¬ 
lected,” said somebody else, his teeth in a slice of the 
cheese as he finished speaking. 

“Anyhow, we didn’t descend to baking-powder.” 

“Nor to white flour. Remember the old chap who 
said it kept because it was so robbed of its virtues that 
not even the worms would eat it?” 

“And we took brown sugar for old time’s sake. Do 
you still carry white for donkeys only?” 

“Yes,” cried Phebe, “and the only way we can ever 
get a lump is to stand in the line and bray and take it 
with our tongues!” 

“Hooray! The old traditions have not died!” 

“Died!” exclaimed Clara. “If these girls got it into 
their heads that the Three-Corner Round tradition 
included-” 

“Santa Clara! No fair!” Perdita protested, and 
Clara desisted, laughing. 

“Tell us what you did take for a two-weeks’ trip,” 
said Ruth. 


204 


GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


“Well, it wasn’t the Boy Scout manual stuff,” said 
Harlan. “To pack on a fellow’s own back—loaves of 
bread, soft bakery bread probably, crush up in a 
minute, and no strength in it. ’Member the time we 
ate it for two meals running, and nearly died and 
Q.M. fed us a bite of our own good stuff on the march 
and we all bucked up? Of course, you don’t remem¬ 
ber! Trouble with this reunion is that most of us 
weren’t out together, and a fellow has to do most of 
his reminiscing by himself.” 

“And we didn’t take any glass jars or preserves 
either, as the poor B. S. is advised to do, to carry, on 
his back along with potatoes heavy as lead, and eggs 
as fragile as glass, or more so. Did your eggs keep 
to midsummer?” 

“Yes, indeed. Everything keeps up here in this 
dry air. The butter was sweet to the very end. You’re 
joking about the Boy Scouts.” 

“Not on your life. See the Manual, at least the 
edition current in our day. And I forgot canned sal¬ 
mon. Ptomaine, and another tin can to add to the 
collection at the camp-site. Why not bait and fish¬ 
hooks and get a trout or two instead?” 

“I fished,” declared Phebe suddenly. “I got two. 
But I don’t think I like to. I like to eat them, but I 
don’t like to see them stop living.” 

“Afraid to face unpleasant realities,” sighed Roger. 
“I’m sorry to see that symptom in one so young and 
fair, Phebe. Half of a city practitioner’s patients have 


CAMP-FIRE AND STARLIGHT 


205 

it, one way or another. That’s why I took a country 
practice.” 

He smiled at Phebe, and slipped his share of the 
custard to her plate, to atone for having brought a 
worried look to her eyes. 

“Country practitioner!” exclaimed Ruth. “I think 
that must be delightful. There are so many charming 
country doctors in literature I’ve always wanted to meet 
one. Do you go about on horseback?” 

“Sometimes, when I’m called to a mining-camp or the 
like of that. I’ve all Inyo County for my bailiwick. 
Not much competition, except from a Piute medicine 
man. He drinks the patients’ blood and dances around 
a fire till he falls in a fit. I can’t do anything so dra¬ 
matic as that. But recently a witch put a spell on the 
doctor himself and I think he may be counted out of 
the running. O, it’s a great life! Every sort of people 
except the ‘tired business man.’ One of the best 
things about my job is that I can get into the moun¬ 
tains quickly—and out again, alack! Leif and I’ve 
got a trail up from Bishop now, nearly to North Pali¬ 
sade. We’re going back that way to-morrow after 
a bit climb up to the top.” 

“0!” Perdita gave a little shriek and then bit her 
lip. Roger turned to her quickly. 

“Did you hurt yourself?” 

“No, only- Oh, dear, I hate being a girl!” 

Roger laughed. 

“Want to climb N.P., do you? So did I like blazes 


206 


GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


the first time I was out here, and they wouldn’t let me. 
I wasn’t a girl, either. Do you suppose Chieftaine 
would let you go up with us to-morrow? Elmer and 
Stu and Jim and Pat will be coming back down and 
could look after you.” 

“O, Chieftaine darling!” Perdita, quite forgetting 
her scorn of hugging, was smothering Ruth. “And I 
didn’t ask. I didn’t. He understood without my 
telling!” 

Ruth disengaged herself, asked a few clear, sharp 
questions about ropes and hobnails, assured the doctor 
as to the girls’ steady heads and good wind, and in a 
jiffy Perdita and Emily were trotting off to bed to get 
the requisite sleep, while Elmer and Pat, with hobnails 
and a cup of water, awls and hammer set to work to 
get two pairs of not-very-big, stout-soled shoes ready 
for action. 

“Elmer,” Ruth’s tone was the lighter one again. 
“You’re not accounted for.” 

Elmer felt in a pocket and got out a photograph of 
a pretty girl and two chubby, snub-nosed urchins. 

“Yours?” Ruth was incredulous, but Elmer nodded 
and pounded affirmation. 

“Let’s see, who’s next? Jim. What does Jim do 
for a living?” 

“Did you happen to see that play Thyrum that had 
such a run in New York last winter?” 

Clara looked up. “The one about chewing-gum, 
you mean? The burlesque on America by a young 


CAMP-FIRE AND STARLIGHT 


207 

Oxford man—where everything was done by efficiency- 
units, squads of four, in time to rhythmic gum-chewing? 
0 yes, the gum was flavored with different gland- 
secretions. You chewed adrenal if your unit was to 
serve as soldiers, and thyroid for something else. Pve 
forgotten the technicalities. Rather like The Robots . 
Were you in the cast, Jim?” 

“No, Jim was only the author. And since he made 
his name and a lot of English shillings, not to say 
pounds, poking fun at his old homeland for the benefit 
of the British public, and then for the benefit of the 
home-folks themselves (who do fall for it, I admit!), 
he’s been pretending he earns his salt by writing for 
some misguided paper or other-” 

Jim tucked Pat’s head under his arm, as Ruth called 
for Leif’s report. 

“Me? I’m called the Gentleman Packer. I like 
donkeys, and I decided there’d be room in the Sierras 
for a packer who could treat animals decently and keep 
appointments, and keep camps clean, and let people 
go where they’d like to, not just where it was easiest 
for the packer to take them. It’s healthy and fun, and 
so far I’m not in the poor-house. We make our own 
saddles, humane tree, fitting each donkey, and we 
don’t average one sore back a season. I’ve just joined 
these fellows for a few days on my way back from taking 
in one party to take in another. All my stock’s let, 
that’s why theirs is so poor.” 

“Good for you!” cried Ruth. “I’m no end glad to 


208 


GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


hear about you. You could bring in our midsummer 
stuff, couldn’t you? We’ll talk about that. Pat, 
you’re not in a pigeon-hole yet.” 

“Pheasant-farmer,” quoth Pat, but Jim added: 

“Volunteer Contributing Editor to All Journals who 
will have him on the general subject of the Debauchery 
of Modern Civilization. As if anything I ever said 
about America was half as scorching as Pat’s weakest 
headlines! Why, when one of Pat’s utterances is 
heard, stocks fall off 17% in an hour, eh Stu?” 

“’Deed they do. If I’d known what Pat’s future was 
going to be, I’d never have gone into banking. Want 
me for a partner, Leif? I’m thinking of retiring.” 

“Can’t say I do, old man. But I do want El¬ 
mer. See here, Elmer, I can make you a fair offer. 
You know you like mules and horses and donkeys better 
than you do trees. What do you say to this?” And 
the two withdrew from the fire-lit circle. 

There was a general breaking-up, and going off to 
bed. Jim wandered down to the men’s fire. There he 
drew from his pocket a handful of tiny wooden figures 
of donkeys and men, and Joe, puffing at his pipe and 
chuckling quietly for audience, there was enacted a little 
drama: The Awkward Squad at Pot-Luck Pass , ending 
in the waking of the three sleeping beauties, not by 
kisses but by a resounding bray. 

Santa Clara, coming back to the camp-fire to make 
sure it was safely covered, found Harlan before her on 


CAMP-FIRE AND STARLIGHT 


209 

the same errand. He smiled up at her through his 
scalloped hat-brim. 

“Crickets ate my hat-brim/’ he told her. “It’s the 
same old hat I had out here years and years ago. I 
dug it up for the occasion. See! There’s a pistol hole 
through the crown. I put that in with care the first 
day I wore it. O, I can’t bear to turn in yet,” and 
he suddenly blew on the coals he had just been care¬ 
fully covering. 

Clara dropped down beside the embers. 

“It’s a struggle every night to go to bed,” she said. 
“It’s a sheer economic waste, to sleep through such 
nights as these. And yet usually we get so sleepy that 
we drop off early. To-night you’ve excited us all so 
that we shan’t get to sleep for hours and hours. What 
an interesting and varied lot of careers you fellows 
have entered on! But I don’t recall your telling us 
what you do.” 

“Nobody asked,” said Harlan quietly, “and really, 
my job’s so new, and to me it’s so enormously interest¬ 
ing that I shouldn’t feel like sketching it briefly to a 
crowd.” He glanced up at Clara’s face and seeing the 
quick interest there, he went on: 

“I had an offer to be athletic director at one of the 
big colleges; faculty rank, and big pay; pretty good for 
so young a chap. I liked the sound of it. But one 
doesn’t go through prep school and college without 
having a thought once in a while about the existing 
order of things. It’s only the man who never went to 


2io GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 

college who is so dead sure it’s a blessed institution, 
I’m sure. Or the college man who just breezes through, 
without stirring his gray matter on the way. Anyhow, 
though I had got a lot of good out of college athletics, 
I wasn’t altogether sure I wanted to go on perpetuating 
the system as I found it, andT wasn’t sure I was big 
enough to buck it to any appreciable extent. While 
I was taking a week to decide, I went up into the 
Minnesota forests to think it over. Somehow, after 
you’ve lived in forests or mountains, you get so you 
can’t really see clearly anywhere else. Out on the 
prairie, perhaps—or at sea, but I’ve not tried those 
yet. And it would have to be a sailing-ship, not a big 
floating hotel. Anyhow, I made for the nearest neck 
o’ woods, and paddled myself down a river for a few 
days, and then I declined the offer. Didn’t know what 
I should do instead, and knew I’d have hard work 
explaining myself to a lot of people. Only I intended 
not to explain. It was like a religious experience, a 
kind of holy thing. You understand!” 

Clara nodded. 

“Well, on the way out of the woods I ran into a 
curious old chap. Looked about a hundred till you 
got a look at his eyes. Little wizened old chap, rather 
asthmatic, I think he was. May have been up in the 
pine woods for asthma. He was camping, same as I 
was, all alone. We had supper together, and a smoke 
afterward by the camp-fire. And if you will believe 
me, before that fire went out, he had me engaged for 


CAMP-FIRE AND STARLIGHT 


211 


four years at least, and I shouldn’t be surprised if it 
was a lot longer. A man I’d never seen or heard of, 
and his name I didn’t know, nor he mine!” 

“Wonderful!” breathed Clara. 

“It’s like this. He sees the faults of our educational 
institutions. He says the root of the trouble lies in the 
word ‘institutions.’ You can’t educate a growing boy 
in a dead thing like an institution. He knows the dif¬ 
ficulties all the educators have to meet. He doesn’t 
grouse at them, or blame them. He only tries to do 
something himself on a small scale that will be better. 
It’s this he does. He has loads of money. O you may 
say all you like about money being an evil! It’s a 
tremendous leverage it gives you over men and nature, 
sometimes. It’s only the love of the stuff that’s vicious.” 

Clara nodded, and he went on. 

“He has a kind of camp on a great crag above a 
forest, not really in the forest, but you get the woodsy 
smells up there. I went home with him the next day, 
but I had accepted his offer before I saw his dugout, I 
want you to understand. Anybody’d have accepted 
if they’d once seen. There’s a very little house, and 
a very big telescope. There’s not a road, only a 
donkey-trail, and there’s a godown with all sorts of 
beautiful things in it, which he brings out one at a 
time for a week or two, the Japanese way, instead of 
stringing them all up before your eyes till your eyes 
get numb and don’t see them. There are stone fire¬ 
places with decent stone chimneys scattered about the 


212 


GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


hill so there’s always one out of the wind. There’s 
never a meal cooked or eaten indoors on that hill, 
except in bad weather. There are wonderful sleeping- 
sites all about, too, not artificially arranged, just 
smoothed out a bit. There’s a place on the roof of the 
little house, too, for eating or sleeping, or just gazing, 
off over a wide horizon: not a man-made thing in sight. 

“Well, the Old Man’s plan is this: he proposes invit¬ 
ing chosen boys to forego the four years of college and 
put themselves under his tutelage for that time, entirely 
at his expense. When a boy agrees he is to come for a 
year to that hill to read with the Old Man and learn 
the stars. He says that all the great ideas have come 
to men who have looked off the earth. The telescope 
is really good, and he has big astronomer friends who 
come for visits. All the literatures of the world are 
on the bookshelves of the main huts and the tiny others 
where the fellows will live, long distances apart, each 
hidden away by itself. There are to be no servants. 
All the wood will be chopped by the boys, and the water 
has to be carried some distance, and the cooking and 
cleaning and clothes-washing they will do for them¬ 
selves. He says he may now and then take or send 
some of them to town for music or a play. He’s able 
to play the violin fairly well himself. I am sure he has 
wonderful friends who will be coming for visits, in 
heavenly frames of mind. Each boy is to be treated 
as a person, not just one of a bunch, you know what I 
mean! It was good to get out of college and feel I was 


CAMP-FIRE AND STARLIGHT 


213 

myself, alone, at last, after so many years of being a 
member of a class and a team and a chorus and a club 
and the Varsity itself. He’ll give the boy anything 
he really wants and can appreciate. Only some read¬ 
ing of classics and the stars he insists on, because he 
thinks you can’t tell what a fellow’s got in him, until 
you’ve shown him those great things. 

“When the thing’s really going, there’ll always be, 
besides the first-year chaps, some old boys back for a 
final six-months’ of talking it all over with the Old Man 
before they plunge. 

“There aren’t any summer vacations, or any other 
regular holidays in the Old Man’s schedule. There 
may be visits home now and then, but at odd times, 
perhaps only a run home for a night. Well, after 
that wonderful first year, the chap goes ofF for six 
months of real roughing it, life in the open, however you 
want to describe it. There are all sorts of possibilities 
for that. One squad may go into the mountains sur¬ 
veying, the way we used to do in the old Three-Corner 
Round. That teaches team work. Or a fellow might 
go mining or prospecting. Or he may go off on a 
sailing-ship, or canoeing. He may study trees or bugs 
—I know a fellow who has written a whole book on one 
kind of beetle, think of that! He taught me to make 
awfully good pan-cakes, that chap! Or he may paint, 
or write, or just look. But for six months he’s out of 
touch with civilization. He’s not on his own quite. 
He’d not be ready yet. You can’t think, Santa Clara, 


214 GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 

what helpless fellows the ordinary chaps from good 
homes are, when they are ready for college! IVe seen 
’em in camp, and I know. They are stupid and clumsy 
and some of them are scared, and they need an awful 
lot of looking after, and getting things knocked into 
them and knocked out of them. The Old Man has 
friends who are prospectors, and Canadian guides, and 
Swiss mountain-climbers, and Labrador fishermen, 
and old sea-mates, and so on. He’s knocked about a 
lot, and made friends everywhere, and he never loses 
track of any of them. His plan is to use these men as 
his assistants. I’m going to help him by getting hold 
of these chaps when they’re wanted and hooking the 
right boy up to the right man, and so on, and being a 
sort of steward for the various outside parties. There 
may be several out at a time. He never means to have 
more than a dozen fellows on his string at any time, 
but with the wide scattering he proposes, there’ll be 
plenty of work for a ‘general roustabout' as he calls 
my noble office. 

“After the six months in the open, the boy is to be 
shipped off to the foreign country of his choice, with 
enough to live on, and something or other to study up 
specially. He’ll really learn one foreign language there, 
and learn how to get on with a different sort of people. 
The old man has friends on every continent, too. If I 
were one of his boys now I could choose whether I’d go 
to Vienna and live with a famous surgeon, or to Brazil 
and help investigate snake poisons, or dwell with a 


CAMP-FIRE AND STARLIGHT 


215 


Chinese poet on a mountain-side, or ’most anywhere. 
Probably the first boy will choose Siam and that will 
prove to be a place where the Old Man doesn’t know 
any one. But we’ll say, for all practical purposes, 
he’ll be free to choose.” 

Har threw more wood on the fire. “Glad Rog and 
I chopped so much. You’re sure you’re not bored? 
Gosh! It’s good to talk it all out from the beginning 
with you. My folks approve, but I haven’t told it to 
other people yet. I don’t begin work for a month. 
The Old Man advised me to come out here when Rog 
invited us. Said I might get a line on something in¬ 
teresting to use for some of our fellows next year. I 
think Leif and Elmer will be a lot of help to me.” 

“The next year of the four?” Clara prompted. 

“O, yes, that's the most exciting part of it all. 
After a year on the crag-top, six months in the open, 
a year in a foreign land, the kid is going to be pitched 
out into the wide world with fifty dollars* or so in cash, 
the clothes he stands in, and he has to earn his own 
living that year. He’s under bonds not. to borrow, and 
his people aren’t to give him a penny, or hunt a job 
for him. He’s to go to some place where he’s not 
known, and his people aren’t known. O, I forgot, 
when they go abroad, the rich boys will go steerage, 
and the poor boys on steamers de luxe. Let ’em see 
how the other half lives, you know. 

“If the laddie makes good on that year, he comes 
back for a final six months on the crag-top, talking 


216 GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


everything over with the Old Man, and giving the 
youngsters thrills. 

“Then he’s done. And he gets no degree, and he 
can’t belong to University Clubs, and I don’t suppose 
he could get taken on as a bond salesman anywhere, 
but I do think he’ll have whatever poor little germs of 
Manhood there were in him, fairly well opened out, 
don’t you? By Golly, I get all worked up when I 
think about it! I’d rather help the Old Man try that 
scheme out than have won my E at Exeter, and that 
was my big moment.” 

“How will he get his boys?” asked Clara breath¬ 
lessly. “Could one apply for one’s nephews?” 

“Rather. Only he’ll make up his mind himself. 
There won’t be any comprehensive exams for this show. 
And no cramming. And no certificates. We want 
boys. Real boys with guts. And brains, if there are 
any with those. I’ve two or three I’ve seen as little 
kids in camp I’m going to put up to him. Kids that 
stand their turn at watch without going to sleep, 
and don’t lose their nerve if the canoe tips over and can 
skip a meal without bragging about it, and are decent to 
animals, and so on. You get to know a kid in camp, 
the way his family never does. Tell me about these 
nephews of yours, I’ll look ’em up and show ’em to the 
Chief. I guess that’s what he’ll be called, after all.” 

Ruth and Phebe had left the camp-fire together, to 
say good-night to the stars, Phebe praying a little 


CAMP-FIRE AND STARLIGHT 


217 


prayer of thankfulness under her breath for the whole 
happy summer, and for the glorious fun of meeting 
all these wonderful boys. Ruth always got away from 
the circle of the flames for a quiet look at the stars be¬ 
fore going to sleep, and Phebe often shared it with her. 

“They look cool, the stars,” she said. “And it’s 
funny because they’re such hot blazing suns, isn’t it, 
Chieftaine?” 

“Hush!” Ruth laid a hand on the child’s lips. 
“Listen!” 

A kind of solemn intoning fell upon their ears. They 
moved softly across the grass in its direction. Pat, 
supine, was reciting something solemnly. He saw them 
and stopped. 

“Don’t let us interrupt,” said Ruth, “but honestly, 
we’re so thrilled about you all that we’re dying to know 
what you were doing.” 

“I’ll do it again with pleasure, if you like. It’s my 
nightly Imagination Exercise. I do setting-up drill 
and the like for my muscles every day in town, but 
every night in a place like this I stretch my imagina¬ 
tion. I’ve worked out a formula for it. It goes like 
this. You must really think , Phebe.” 

“I will, I will,” Phebe promised hurriedly, curling 
close to Ruth on the grass. 

“This great Earth,” Pat began, “is so great that 
were I to walk ten miles a day, and the oceans were 
bridged, never pausing, it would take me seven years 
to circle it—a tenth of man’s span of life.” 


218 


GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


Phebe, remembering her one ten-mile walk, drew a 
deep breath. 

“This great Earth is one of a group of planets circling 
about a huge dying star, the Sun. 

“This Sun, with its retinue of planets, is one of a 
billion and a half visible suns in our particular stellar 
system. 

“For every visible sun in the system there are a 
thousand dark stars, extinguished or so newly-born 
they have not grown hot enough to see. 

“This, our ‘patrie siderale’ is one of a million stellar 
systems in the Cosmos, each as vast as ours. 

“The moon is 300,000 kilometers from the earth. 

“A moonbeam comes to earth in a second. 

“A sunbeam comes to earth in eight minutes. 

“To cross our stellar system light must travel 30,000 
years. 

“To come from one of the nearer of the million 
other stellar systems light must travel ten million 
years. 

“Betelgeuze is large enough to take in our Sun and 
his cortege of planets. 

“Antares is nearly twice as large. ,, 

(Ruth pointed to Antares flaming red in the Scorpion’s 
tail.) 

“All the matter in space is as a pin-head in a sphere 
of ether, 200 kilometers through. 

“These huge suns are as naught to the space between 
them. 


CAMP-FIRE AND STARLIGHT 


219 

“That’s the first part,” said Pat. “Now for a 
stretch in the other direction: 

“This great Earth is one of the least of the attendants 
on a tiny, dying star, the Sun, itself a small one of a 
billion in a system, the system itself, in turn, one of a 
million systems. 

“This earth’s outer part is rock. 

“The thinnest inch-square shaving of this granite 
rock, where I touch it here in the Sierras, shows under 
the microscope interlocking crystals of feldspar, quartz, 
hornblende and mica, with probably an infinitesimal 
bit of radioactive zeolite besides. 

“In this small fragment of a feldspar crystal are 
hundreds of thousands of feldspar molecules. 

“Each feldspar molecule is a definite, coherent group 
of atoms, each group containing, let us say, silicon, 
potassium and aluminium and oxygen in definite pro¬ 
portions. 

“Take the silicon atoms. Each of them is itself a 
planetary system of electrons, circling about a nucleus. 

“We conceive the silicon nucleus to be the sun in this 
particular silicon atomic system. 

“Circling about it, in an orbit comparable to that of 
Mercury, are two electrons. 

“Circling in an orbit outside that, comparable to 
that of Venus, are eight electrons. 

“Circling in a third orbit like Earth’s are four elec¬ 
trons. 

“The spaces between electrons are as great in propor- 


220 GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 

tion to the size of the electrons as the spaces between 
the sun and planets are in proportion to the size of the 
sun and the planets.” 

“Chieftaine,” whispered Phebe, wretchedly. “May 
I go to bed? It hurts my head, and I’m a little fright¬ 
ened. I want to find Emily.” 


CHAPTER XXI 


CLIMBING NORTH PALISADE 

I T WAS a rapturous Perdita and a rapturous Emily 
who left their warm blankets voluntarily in the chill 
morning, stars glittering as though it were midnight, 
Joe’s fire throwing rival stars skyward with a pleasing 
crackle. 

A real climb was in prospect, with ropes. And no 
Three-Corner Round girl so far had ever done this 
mountain. They were discreet enough not to exult 
openly in that fact, however, because they had learned 
by experience that Ruth was “bored” with people who 
were interested in being “first or third or eighty- 
seventh” as she said, “on any peak of the Sierras. As 
though the Indians hadn’t been everywhere hereabout, 
long before, and the shepherds after that, and doubtless 
no end of quiet climbers who never thought of recording 
or advertising themselves!” 

The boys were to get their own breakfast at their 
camp, and to send down for the girls when they were 
ready. 

Phebe, muffled in a big cape, shared a bite of early 
breakfast with her sister and Perdita, and unenviously 
watched them off, Doctor Roger securely tying bowlines 


221 


222 


GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


about their waists at the very beginning, that the thrill 
might be as complete as possible, and also, perhaps, 
that he might begin to feel his responsibility at the start. 

The stars faded in that silent, imperceptible fashion 
of theirs. The white stillness of dawn came on. The 
peaks showed black against the colorless, dim sky. 
The lake lay cold and dark and calm. Phebe shivered 
over the coals as she thought of the others, climbing 
up, up, up those steep faces. She wondered vaguely 
what “chimneys” in mountains were, and what was 
meant by “ couloir. ” 

She shook herself at last, with a rather sleepy little 
sigh, and set to work gathering the scattered breakfast 
dishes. It was Jose’s job to do them (one improve¬ 
ment introduced by Ruth into the Three-Corner Round, 
the boys had heartily agreed, was a hired dishwasher!) 
but Phebe didn’t like to leave things lying messily about, 
even for an hour or so. 

Phebe did not want to climb North Palisade. She 
was not afraid exactly. She would have climbed it 
pluckily had someone she loved needed help up there, 
but she could not share Perdita’s desire merely to set 
foot on the top of anything, nor Ruth’s passion for the 
wide-flung views from summits. She liked best the 
cozier, framed-in views from valleys. 

Clara, finding her kneeling by the dish-pan, carefully 
drying the last dish, just as the sun’s first rays shot over 
the rim of the earth into camp, stooped and gave her a 
kiss: 


CLIMBING NORTH PALISADE 


223 

“You little housewife!” she said as Phebe lifted 
affectionate eyes in response to the kiss. “You looked, 
kneeling there, by that thin blue column of smoke, 
like a little acolyte burning incense at an altar, and I 
find you washing dishes!” 

Phebe smiled slowly. “Weren’t there a great many 
vessels in the Temple, Santa Clara? Somebody must 
have had to wash them. Somehow I love the moun¬ 
tains more if I do little plain jobs in front of them. It 
seems to me I’ll remember them always better if I work 
while I look at them. You know one has to mend or 
cook or do things like that such a lot of one’s life. 
Seems to me Mother and Our Grandma are always 
doing things like that for Emily and Daddy and me. 
And so will I be doing sometime, when I’m somebody’s 
Mother or Grandma. And if you have the feeling 
that just lifting up your eyes, you might see North 
Palisade or Mt. Humphreys, or Spanish Ladies—why, 
it makes you feel sort of sweet inside. I think Mother 
feels like that, ’most always. And I want to be like 
Mother.” 

“Of course, you do! Now, suppose I make some 
cocoa for us two. Joe and the boys seem to have worn 
themselves out, getting up and getting fire and break¬ 
fast for the girls. I don’t know where Ruth is, very 
likely off for a walk. Hark!” 

From the direction of the lake came the sound of 
running steps and heavy breathing. Suddenly Jim 
appeared, followed closely by Pat. They raced each 


224 


GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


other to the great rock by the fire, and rolled on the 
ground like puppies. 

“Beat you!” 

“You never! I touched it first!” 

“You ridiculous creatures!” cried Clara. “What 
have you been up to? You’re panting like—yak!” 

“He stumped me to a run before breakfast,” gasped Jim. 
“’Course he thought I wouldn’t. So I took him up.” 

“But I beat,” declared Pat, throwing his arms above 
his head, and drawing long breaths. 

“Not you!” 

“Children!” Santa Clara stamped her foot, but no 
one heard it because of her thick sheepskin slippers. 
“Stop quarrelling this minute, or I shall send you both 
to bed. Haven’t you had breakfast? Why didn’t you 
climb the mountain?” 

Both young men laughed delightedly, and sat up 
politely. 

“That’s the joke, Santa Clara! Pat has been out 
here about twenty times, I should say. He’s always 
running out to the Sierras to get a breath of clean air, or 
to see how the pheasants he’s stocking the mountains 
with are getting along, and he never yet has climbed a 
peak worth mentioning. Nobody knows why. He 
says he always forgets to. He’s been up to 14,000, to 
be sure, but that was old Split that you could wheel 
a baby up in a go-cart.” 

“I don’t remember to climb, really,” declared Pat. 
“It’s such a stupid thing, to go up just for the sake of 


CLIMBING NORTH PALISADE 


225 


going, and I always have so much to do. But the real 
joke is that Jim here has been to the Himalayas, went 
with Stu the time Stu got his pig-tail and, as far as 
his friends can make out, while Stu climbed everything 
but Everest, he never set foot to ground all the while 
he was out there. Appears to have ridden every kind 
of animal, camel, elephant (do they have those there, 
hey?) yak, donkeys, Tibetan sheep, even, but never a 
good climbing yarn has any one ever got out of him. 
And his friends razz him about it, just as they do me, 
about not climbing out here. People seem to think, you 
know, that if you don’t make records, or take kodak 
pictures, or shoot wild game, the mountains have been 
wasted on you. So Jim and I took a mutual vow, so to 
speak, this time, that we’d go up N. P., or bust.” 

They both roared with laughter. 

“Why didn’t you keep your vow?” asked Phebe, 
puzzled. 

“We honestly meant to,” declared Jim. “And if 
they’d started at a Christian hour, we would have. 
But I was up half the night chinning with Joe, and I 
ate too much supper, and when I heard those birds 
stirring about this morning, nothing under Heaven 
could have budged me. I just feigned sleep, that’s 
what I did. And when they left, I dozed off, really. 
And when I woke up, after an hour or so, lo and behold, 
Copernicus here was snoozing alongside. He hadn’t 
waked up at all!” 

They shouted with glee. 


226 


GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


“It’s fate,” declared Pat. “I shall never climb a 
mountain. We felt terribly frisky and we had a bit of 
a wrestling match, and then I challenged His Highness 
(he claims that’s what they called him up and down the 
Himalayas!) to a run to get warmed up without bother¬ 
ing to light a fire-” 

“Dot Chimmy!” exclaimed Joe, appearing suddenly. 
“Ain’t you had nodin’ to eat yet?” 

“Not a crumb, Joe. I’m perishing. Likely to pass 
away in a faint any minute.” 

“We’re all hungry, Joe,” said Clara. “Let’s see what 
we can do in the way of a really first-class breakfast, 
seeing we’ve company. Here comes Chieftaine, too. 
Phebe, the cocoa-tin is nearly empty. Do you know 
where there’s another?” 

After breakfast, Pat went off to find his pheasants in 
the neighborhood, Clara took her diary and climbed 
to a ledge above camp where the view was particularly 
entrancing, and Jim took out his puppets and held 
Phebe spell-bound with one play after another, from 
Shakespeare to the latest Czecho-Slovakian. 

Ruth joined the audience presently with a big square 
of unbleached linen, a bagful of colored embroidery 
silks, and a big star atlas. 

“Here, Phebe, I’ve a job for you,” she said when 
Phebe had finished applauding the hornpipe following a 
performance of Pinafore. “You can watch the show 
while you do it.” 

“What is it?” asked Phebe obediently. 



CLIMBING NORTH PALISADE 


227 


“Well, after you went to bed last night, Pat and I 
had a long talk about stars. Perhaps that’s why he 
overslept this morning. I know I didn’t get to sleep 
till nearly three, thinking. He made me so ashamed 
of myself, for one thing. To think I’ve had girls out 
in these mountains year after year, and they’ve gone 
off, barely knowing the Great Dipper! Pat’s quite 
right. I’ve wasted all these summers. I don’t know 
the stars myself, except in a vague sentimental way. 
I do know the zodiac, because I taught a country 
school a rhyme about it: 

‘“The Ram with glittering golden fleece 
The starry march begins. 

Behind him comes the snorting Bull, 

And after him, the Twins. 

The sidling Crab, the Lion bold, 

The Virgin with the wheat, 

The Scales that truth and justice hold, 

Come on in order meet. 

Straight at the Scorpion’s forked tail 
The Archer points his bow, 

The while upon his other hand 
The Horned Goat doth go. 

The Water-Bearer from his pails 
Pours forth a silver rain 
In which the Fishes flash their tails. 

And here’s the Ram again.’” 

“O, I like that,” cried Phebe. “Daddy likes stars, 
and he tried to teach me the zodiac, but you always 
have to go to bed so early, and Emily didn’t like to hear 


228 


GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


about the animals, and snakes and things up in the 
sky. They make her have nightmares, so we stopped 
thinking about them.” 

“I agree. They are absurd old things. I suppose 
that’s one reason why I’ve never got interested in the 
stars. It’s quaint to think of the old shepherds naming 
them that way, while they ‘watched their flocks by 
night,’ but it’s all so fantastic and really meaningless 
that I’ve never bothered with them. And another 
trouble is that you can’t study a star-chart at night 
without killing your eyes, and day-times the stars aren’t 
there to compare with (at least, you can’t see them). 
Now, after talking with Pat, and learning that Right 
Ascension which always seemed formidable to me, was 
nothing but an expression for how far east and west of 
an arbitrary meridian a star was, and that Declination 
meant how far north and south, I had an inspiration, 
and this is it. There! You’ve untangled enough of 
that red, my dear. Begin on the green. My silks 
are always in a snarl.” 

“I know. You’re going to make a map, and em¬ 
broider the stars on it,” said Jim. “Since you’re in 
such a heavenly frame, I’ll enact the story of Pegasus 
for you. How’s that for wings, Phebe?” He lifted 
up one of the puppets, which had served as a donkey 
the night before, and to-day as Sir Galahad’s steed, 
and the bonny bride’s horse in The Cruel Brother. He 
had attached to each flank a feather from the little 
Tyrolean cluster he wore in his hat. 


CLIMBING NORTH PALISADE 


229 

“ Lovely!” said Phebe, winding green silk swiftly, 
and watching with all her eyes. 

By the time the curtain fell, Ruth had the latitude, 
parallels and longitude meridians drawn in pencil on 
her linen, and was outlining them with long stitches 
of cream-color, good for a background. 

“Ecliptic’s to be red, and equator green,” she ex¬ 
plained, “and the largest stars in this,” touching a deep 
magenta. “That will show up well. We’ll have a 
different color for each size of star. But we’ll learn 
every single one we put on, as we do it. At least, I 
shall.” 

“ 0 , so shall I,” Phebe declared earnestly. “I think 
Daddy would love to have me know something about 
the stars. And if we don’t talk about the animals, 
maybe Emily will like it, too. Do you suppose Perdita 
will?” 

“Not she!” Ruth laughed. “She’s waked up to 
rocks this year. You can’t wake up in too many direc¬ 
tions at once, or you scatter hopelessly. I saw her 
trying to model crystals in plastilene the other day, 
and I knew the rock spell had her. It won’t let go of 
her for many a year, if it ever does, but by and by she 
will be big enough for stars, too. Look, Pat! This is 
the result of your missionary work last night. Call 
Miss Lyndsay, will you, Pat? I mean Santa Clara! 
I suppose you don’t know her town name. Tell her 
Joe’s getting lunch trays ready.” 

“ Good old Joe! Let’s help him, Patrick! ” And Jim 


GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


230 

stuffed his precious puppets into a big pocket of a 
hunting-jacket, pocket intended for grouse and the like, 
doubtless, and strode off. 

Santa Clara, meanwhile, had fallen asleep over her 
diary. When Pat told her, from a polite distance, that 
luncheon was a matter of minutes, she sat up, rubbed 
her eyes, and glanced over the pages she had written: 

“We are all getting our hearts’ desires. I’m safe 
forever, now, from the worried, conventional, stick-in- 
the-mud, heavily conscientious middle-age I was afraid 
I was in for. Emily is ‘desirable’ now that she has 
forgotten about wanting to be desired. Her eyes are 
opened. I choose her now to be by me when I am 
sketching, she is so quick to see. She has become more 
silent. Poor dear! Chattering is often a sign of empty- 
mindedness. People talk of trifles because they have 
nothing to think about. What a pity that so many of 
us are empty, when there is that in the world to fill us 
all twice over! 

“Ruth—but how can I write of Ruth? She has her 
heart’s desire simply in being among her hills. I 
don’t yet know what she does in the winters, or where 
she passes them. She is as impersonal as the rocks. 
But I often see in her eyes as she looks off at a sea of 
peaks, or up at a single one, something which reminds 
me of that line: ‘So, and no otherwise, hillmen desire 
their hills.’ I wonder if she was ever ego-centered and 
turbulent-hearted ? 

“Little Phebe never was self-centered, but her limits 
have been too tiny. Now she sees the mountains above 
her dish-pan, and has begun to think deeply enough to 
perceive why her mother is lovely. 


CLIMBING NORTH PALISADE 


231 


“As for my saucy little Coppertop, the rocks will 
save her yet. She sometimes looks wistful instead of 
bored, when Ruth or I say something of our deeper 
interest. I must help her mother and Doctor Helen to 
keep the fire alight when she goes home. 

“Yes, we have all ‘goon a pilgrimage’ and found our 
hearts’ desires, or rather, our deepest, most unconscious 
needs have been ministered to, here, apart, in the high 
places. Since I saw Phebe at the fire, I’ve been groping 
in my mind for some verses—another year I should 
bring all my poetry-books. It’s something like this: 

“The flame of my life bums low 
Under the cluttering days, 

Like a fire of leaves, but always 

A little, blue, sweet-smelling smoke goes up to God.’ ” 

She took her pen now and added: 

“God grant it may blaze up royally before we are 
done and destroy some of the clutter!” 

“Santa Clara!” Phebe had come softly up the rocks 
and was looking anxiously into Santa Clara’s nook. 
“Luncheon’s nearly over and the boys eat a lot. I’m 
afraid you won’t get any. May I bring a tray up?” 

“Oh, Phebe dear,” Clara got up, putting her hands to 
her great tumbled coil of hair. “ I’m frightfully hungry. 
I wrote myself to sleep and then I read myself into for¬ 
getfulness. What a dreadful thing a pen is!” 

As the afternoon shadows lengthened, Jim came to 
Ruth, whose long needle flashed in and out along a 
scarlet ecliptic 


232 


GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


“I say, Chieftaine, did Clarence King climb North 
Palisade?” 

“Don’t think so. His terrific climbs were all down 
Whitney way. Why?” 

“Oh, Eve got to write up a climb of the thing, and I 
thought it would go better if I had something to read 
first to get a running start, y’ understand.” 

“But you can’t write about a thing you didn’t do,” 
protested Phebe. 

“Much you know about journalism, Mademoiselle. 
Just you wait and see. But I wish you could give me 
a starter, Chieftaine.” 

“Why, I’ve my own notes. I climbed it two years 
ago with some Sierra Club men. I could show you those. 
Get my red, locked diary from my personal, Phebe.” 

It was a hair-raising climb which the readers of the 
Daily Hotch Potch made vicariously in their Sunday 
supplement a fortnight or so later, between their absorp¬ 
tion of the sporting page and the society page, but the 
sober base of it, which they would have passed by with 
yawns, was only this: 

“Up over granite ledges, over big moraines—huge 
blocks;—up over steep scree and more ledge, steeper 
than before, beside a narrow couloir, presently into the 
couloir and up that, first on this side until it becomes 
impassable, and then on that, sometimes up the steep, 
icy scree of the couloir itself, the upper men taking 
the greatest precautions to avoid loosening rocks, and 
the lower men keeping cover whenever the upper men 


CLIMBING NORTH PALISADE 


233 

are moving. One awkward bit in the bottom where a 
big boulder, wedged in there, has to be got over. At 
length about two thirds of the way up the couloir, a 
narrow shelf leading off to the left. Then a very steep 
and dizzy ascent with good holds; more narrow shelf; a 
short, steep descent, with a gap of several feet at the 
bottom to be stepped across, with nothing below. Then 
easy shelf, with many ups and downs and good holds all 
the way, to a broad, steep couloir with much steep ledge 
in the bottom of it, and some scree. Up this to the base 
of a high wall, the crest of the mountain. Up a vertical 
chimney in this, where a rope thrown up and caught 
above is essential to most folk. Then up over easy rock 
to the edge of a gap in the arrete, in descending into 
which the climber has to hang out over Palisade Glacier, 
which looks to be several thousand feet straight down 
below. Thence easily enough to the top which is not 
over-commodious, especially in a thunder-storm, when 
you are in danger of being stunned. Note. Thunder up 
here has nothing to reverberate against, and sounds 
like machine-guns—short, quick pops.” 

The real climbers came in at dusk, tired and happy, 
Emily bringing Phebe a small tobacco-bag full of lemon 
drops, Leif's parting gift. 

They had little to say about their day, and slept like 
the dead. It was Jim, whose nightmare visions of 
dizzy edges and unbottomed chasms made him toss 
clean out of his blankets, and lie, half the night, with his 
head just missing the garbage-pit! 


CHAPTER XXII 


EN AYANT 


now the days of loitering were over. The 



1 JL equinox was at hand. The men had appoint¬ 
ments. Parents were waiting for telegrams from their 
daughters: “Out. Home day after to-morrow. 5 ’ 

Joe pulled up stakes with a great content in his heart. 
This last stretch of the long trek was always an anxious 
time for Joe, thorough reactionary, given to looking on 
women and children, even Ruth, wise in the craft of 
the open, as objects for manly protection, not as re¬ 
sources to be called upon by a captain in time of trouble. 
This time, with Stu and Har, Jim and Pat at hand, he 
felt ready for whatever might befall. The lazy Mexican 
Indian boys had been a sore affliction to him all the 
season through. He’d bring some Blackfeet down from 
Canada next summer. The weather was fair enough 
now, but you never could tell. More than one great 
band of sheep had been lost because of tarrying behind 
the passes a day too long at this time of year. Four 
extra fellows, experienced and willing, would strengthen 
Joe’s hand. 

They bade Elmer good-bye, driving his one donkey 
before him over Har’s pass and singing “My Man 


EN AVANT 


235 

John,” in a lusty monotone. They hurriedly looked 
their last out across the fjord-like waters, and “En 
Avant!” 

Up over Pot-Luck, down into the Valley of Elmer’s 
Wrath, as far as old Quarter-Mistress Camp, they went 
the first day. The boys, in coming in, had mended 
trail enough to obviate reconnaissance on the way out, 
so the second day took in its stride the old block and 
tackle gully, the pass above it, the trail hugging the 
high wall of a great cirque above impassable scree, 
past Cirque Camp, around the nose of a high clifF, across 
a gully and out to Patrick O’Flanagan Camp, where 
Dave, long ago, had made the first chocolate frosted 
cake in the outfit’s history. 

Next day was serious business. There was a long 
way to go, high above the valley-bottom, over roches 
moutonnees , a steep descent of that gully which had 
ultimately discouraged Cockleburr in olden times, a 
huge, slippery rock to be cautiously skirted, before 
dropping to the easier going in the valley bottom. 
And no one, then, could bear to think of making a 
comfortable, low camp near the water! The whole 
outfit had to be got up those wild ledges known as 
Pirate’s Camp, and the water-carriers had to be let 
down by ropes over the cliff-face, for old time’s sake. 
The girls were being given their fill of tradition now. 

By this time Clara had rebelled against the fearful 
speed of their progress. She vowed it stank of gasoline, 
and demanded a day’s rest at any price. 


236 GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 

A day forever to be remembered, that one day of 
peace and leisure in the entrancing basin of Palisade! 
Eastward, Middle Palisade lifted its arrete of rarely- 
climbed peaks in the background. Westward, across 
the valley, a wall crowned with gargoyles and gendarmes 
dropped sheer to an azure, oval lake. Titanic stair¬ 
ways of polished rock spread from lake-edge to the base 
of Middle Palisade. To the north, the way by which 
they had come, seemed shut behind them. Southward, 
Giraud Pass, low alternative to the adventurous 
Three-Corner Round Pass near the crest, marked the en¬ 
trance to Lost Goat Valley. Streams rushed down from 
all directions to that lovely oval lake. Real trees found 
root on the ledges, and goodly groves grew lower down. 

Every one was a bit sad, looking back up the valley, 
seizing and holding fast, against the days to come, that 
perfect loveliness. Ruth held off her clamoring regrets 
by putting in a good day’s work on her star-chart. 
Every night Pat helped her trace great circles up and 
down the sky, and larger and larger circles from pole to 
equator. “ Buoys,” he called the great first magnitude 
stars, “by which we measure the progress of the other 
planets and of the earth on their great course.” 

Emily, finding no lizards, rabbits, or serpents, in 
Pat’s atlas, only real maps of the stars, forgot her preju¬ 
dices, and learned at such a rate that she could soon 
recite the list of “first mags” backward, and when 
Pat would call for: “North 28?” she would reply: 
“Sirrah, Beta Tauri, Pollux, Gemma, Scheat,” as 


EN AVANT 


237 

glibly as if he had asked for 7x8. (Possibly a trifle 
more so!) 

Pat was elated at his pupils’ progress. When he 
found Santa Clara figuring out in broad daylight what 
constellations were overhead, invisible in the sun’s 
hot glare, and what directly underneath, he tossed his 
soup-bowl hat in glee. 

“I feel as though I’d taken the roof off your blessed 
heads,” he cried. “In city slums you expect to find 
earthworms but in the high Sierras, and above timber- 
line! Ye gods!” 

“Not earthworms in the slums, Pat,” corrected 
Clara sadly. “A slum child wouldn’t know the word, 
earth. If you brought him here he’d call the rocks 
‘floor’ or ‘pavement.’ And he’d look for electric signs 
in the heavens: kittens playing with spools, or miners 
tossing flapjacks.” 

“I know,” sighed Pat. “A boy told me once that 
there weren’t any stars over Cleveland. 

“Smoke to breathe, sewage to drink, concrete to 
walk on, trolley-car screeches to listen to, walls and 
roofs everywhere to shut them in, and for stars— 
CIGARETTE S—across the sky! Lord love us! 
What a world we’ve made for men!” 

“Country people see the stars, Pat,” Phebe pleaded. 

“Not they! They shut their doors fast half the year, 
and huddle ’round their stoves. They never let a 
breath of fresh air in, if they can help it, and they never 
let stale air out. They climb the hills to find their 


238 GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 

stock or to mend their fences. And when the war was 
on, more than one country community saw Venus 
moving through the sky and reported her for a German 
airplane, because they didn’t know that the stars ap¬ 
peared to move! No, Phebe, it’s too bad to disillusion 
you, but the country’s no better than the towns, gener¬ 
ally. The trouble is with us, not with places. What’s 
that?” He started, listening. 

“Emily practising the bugle. She’s been intending 
all summer to learn to play it, and this is her last chance. 
Hear her! ‘Old hard-heart mountain, dost thou hear 
me, how I blow?”’ 

That night, though the camp-fire was a lusty one, 
with abundance of fuel, every one seemed inclined to 
be silent. Presently Stuart broke into a high, plaintive 
melody, in a strange tongue. When he had finished, 
he explained: 

“They used to sing that a lot on the trails in the upper 
Indus and the Shyok. I asked what it meant, and one 
old chap, who could speak a little English, said it was 
the song that men sing to their wives the night before 
they start on a long journey. They go far afield, you 
know, those fellows. Sometimes gone for a year or so, 
away into Lhasa on their own business, or serving some 
hunting and exploring sahib. He said the song went: 

I put my foot out. 

But my heart is ever to your side. 

Like water wanting when thirsty. 

So I must wanted you.” 


EN AVANT 


239 

“Sing it again,” begged Ruth, “now that we get 
the meaning.” 

And Stu sang again the high, mournful strains with 
the great crescendo and the oddly abrupt ending. 
The silence fell once more. The fire died down, and 
no one mended it. Clara’s deep sweet voice, which 
had traced arabesques of melody about their whole 
summer, now began to croon a Hebridean cradle¬ 
song in the Gaelic: tender, brooding, but with a lift in 
it a secret, maternal exultation: 


f-Qr-r n | 


- 1 -1—I- 1 - 

V 1 

a k V , 


h K K |S 

/X s . - 0 n— 






V V w V / 


Hee-o ho-romo ru-dr-ach-an 


The intimate part of the summer was over. To¬ 
morrow they would enter the outer gallery of the 
mountains, easy of access to all men, and a very little 
later they must descend from their high places to 
the dusty, humdrum valley. 

They made an early start, with coffee all around as a 
bracer. The sun was barely up when they stood on the 
top of the friendly little pass, among the pink primroses 
and the pale everlasting. 

Over the bleak rock-wastes near Outpost Camp, cast¬ 
ing friendly glances toward old Split’s prodigious gullies, 
they sped along downstream till the trail turned sharply 
east, leading steeply up toward Taboose Pass. 

Within sight of Bench Lake, high above the invisible 
floor of the deep, dark canyon of that fork of the Kings 












2 4 o GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 

to the west of them, they passed the night. Then, 
weather signs and calendar compelling, they forewent 
the more roundabout, enthralling route up over the 
very crest, and took Taboose itself: a broad, dreary 
stretch over snow until they entered the defile between 
the Tawny Cliffs. There, after the prevalent cool 
grays of the Sierras generally, heralded a bit by old 
Split’s faint purples, was color: old gold, pale pink, all 
fire-hearted hues in pastel tones. 

They camped a long way down, just below the roaring 
waterfall. The girls, bivouacking on the trail, taking 
watches with the boys all night to prevent the burros 
racing home, feeding the fire, seeing the misty moonlight 
on those two great portal cliffs, far above and far be¬ 
hind, watching the dawn’s twilight flush them, and 
daybreak itself enkindle them, were moved as never 
before in the whole rich summer. 

Their feet dragged next day. What with diminishing 
altitude, which always brings depression with it, sleepi¬ 
ness, dust—a forgotten evil— the sadness of the partings 
soon to come, and the weariness consequent upon having 
so intensely felt the beauty of the night, it was a lugu¬ 
brious little file that passed out of the canyon at last. 
Even new flowers and a sky-line glimpse of the first 
deer they had seen failed to cheer them. 

They turned abruptly south, climbed up over a high, 
old lateral moraine that stretched far out into Owens 
Valley, and, loath to quit the mountains, clung to their 
flanks until forced to zigzag steeply down to the broad 


EN AVANT 


241 


fan. As they picked their way among the black lava 
blocks, that marked a crack overflow, toward Crater 
Camp, the red cinder cone at which Q? expeditions, 
eastbound, always came to a close, they saw smoke 
and a yelling horseman. 

“Little Matt!” cried every one in sudden joyous 
uplift. “The Scolaris have come to meet us! Glory!” 

And so they had! At that black lava camp they 
found most heartening goings-on. Fire blazing, cloth 
spread, a huge roast turkey, hot coffee, watermelons, 
and a bucket of fresh doughnuts! Scolari carving 
generously, and pretty little Mrs. Scolari urging in her 
politest phrases: “Go ahead, boys! Don't be bashful I 
Plenty more! Go ahead! Eating all you want! 
Eating like hogs! Don't be bashful!” 

For days the kindly little couple had watched the 
pass with binoculars, from their ranch far out in the 
desert, that they might thus make the outfit welcome. 

Before the turkey was half eaten, a snorting little 
automobile arrived, with letters for every one, and tele¬ 
grams for Pat and Jim. A strike in the Inyo mines, 
Jim assigned to cover it; Stu appointed delegate to a 
Pacific bankers' meeting; Pat wanted in a hurry some¬ 
where; Har summoned to conference with his Old Man. 
The horrid, little, noisy convenience swallowed up all 
the boys—men now, with hostages given to civiliza¬ 
tion, and whisked them off into another existence. 

Young Matt gave Joe a hand with the goats and the 
donkeys, the hired bunch and the Three-Corner Round 


242 


GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


own, eager to return to the ranch where they were to 
kick up their heels all winter, coming in the nights, 
marching, marching, ’round the ranch house. The 
senior Scolaris gathered their empty baskets and buck¬ 
ets, stowed themselves within their rickety little Dodge, 
and shouting : “A rivederci domani!” were off on three 
rims and a tire. 


CHAPTER XXIII 


THE LAST ECHO 

B Y candle-light and the pungent sage-brush fire, 
Ruth read to her little group an Himalayan letter. 

“A Shyok Camp, 

A day in Mid-Summer, 

Year of the Hegira 1312. 

“Dear God-Daughter: 

“It is noon in the High Himalayas. The mullah’s 
call to prayer in the tiny village far below our camp 
comes faintly on the still midsummer air. 

“I seem to see the whole ‘firm, opacous globe’: wide 
continents stretching out on either side from me, wide 
seas beyond, and far around, between those seas, 
America. 

“ I see the whole great sweep of her, ocean-bounded, 
mountain-rimmed, great central plains, snowy north 
and fragrant south, great lakes, converging rivers, quite 
like a geography book, only it is real to me, and the 
descriptions in geography books don’t always come 
alive, you know. 

“Just exactly one hundred and eighty degrees away 
is that tiny speck on the earth’s surface which calls 
itself Chicago, now, at our noon, a glitter of tiny firefly 
street-lights, shutting out the stars, a whirr of motors 
and a shriek of trams in its streets, carrying home 


243 


GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


244 

theatre folk. And a little way off from that noisy glit¬ 
ter the great dark lake, its waters starlit, moonlit. 

“Tiny trains rumble across the continent, north, 
south, east, west. The sun is coming up, red and round, 
at some point in the wide Atlantic, to-day’s sun, now 
six hours high for me. And somewhere in the wider 
Pacific, the day, yesterday by my reckoning, is hiding, 
as these folks express sunset. Over you in your High 
Sierran camp the stars are shining gloriously, the night 
well begun. The one thing I envy you is the privilege 
of those untended nights: the utter solitude of your 
camps in those unpeopled mountains. We look upon 
the ubiquitous folk in these villages—villages them¬ 
selves ubiquitous ‘everywhere-ish’ perched on every 
bit of river terrace or alluvial cone or old valley floor 
or fault shelf that a village can, even for a season or two, 
perch on—we try to conceive the folk as fauna and 
flora, like marmots and lichens, not as prying, observing, 
judging, gossiping humans. But when we have come 
in ahead of the caravan, and have been discreetly 
observed at a distance for half an hour or so, perhaps 
serenaded, we turn with relief to the dear gypsy tent 
when the caravan arrives and the Ladakis pitch it, 
singing. We who never pitched a tent in the Sierras, 
save to protect the map table! 

“I have projected myself, not only into space to 
reach you, but ahead in time, to think where this letter 
will find you. I shall address it to Big Pine, and it will 
come to you (dak runners, motors, trains, and steamers 
and the Owens Valley stage all functioning) when you 
descend to Base Camp at Scolari’s ranch, the summer’s 
journey over. Good old Scolaris! I can see little Mrs. 
Scolari fluttering about, fattening the turkey for a 
great dinner for you-” 


THE LAST ECHO 


245 


(“Wasn’t it de-li-cious?” sighed the girls.) 

“‘Picking eggs’ out of all sort of queer places, under 
the seat of the old buggy, in the rusty cook-stove under 
the tree where the guinea-fowl roost, making cheeses, 
spinning, working in the garden (will it be sweet corn 
she has this time?) And ravioli she will be making for 
you, getting up ‘h’early, h’early in the morning’ to do 
it, and the good minestra. There will be wonderful 
Owens Valley melons for you. Rajas send us melons 
on great silver chargers, but never one so sweet as those 
we have had in Lone Pine—the boys sitting on the 
curb and eating them out of hand. And there will be 
Bowers’s honey, clean and golden, not like the stuff 
packed in goat-skins, full of hair and dead bees, which 
we have to clarify here. And the Zuccos maybe will 
bring you a sheep, and Ricou, the cobbler, maybe will 
come down of a Sunday, his little shop under the tree 
shut tight, and barbecue it for you. (If he does, remind 
him of the time he stamped our brand in ink on his 
little dog Finou’s white forehead.) And M. and Mme. 
Giraud will maybe bring you a sack of black wal¬ 
nuts. Will they all sing the song of Coupe Oreille, I 
wonder? 

“And if you need anything of any sort, there will be 
Mr. Eibeshutz to solve all problems for you. And then 
Bedwell will pack you all into his truck with the high 
blue sides, and down the great valley you will go, 
camping at night once more by the roadside, till you 
come to Los Angeles. 

“Will there be a Piute tenting on the ranch, I wonder, 
and going to pow-wows every night, planning to mas¬ 
sacre the whites ? 

“That valley, as I look back upon it, is America in 


246 GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 

epitome: Swiss, Italian, French, Dane, Jew, Piute, 
Spaniard, and Anglo-Saxon all neighbors, doing the 
same fundamental things they did at home: farming, 
sheep-herding, shoemaking, trading, carrying loads. 

“Here, in the villages about us the same kinds of 
work go forward, on such a different scale. What would 
the owner of one wee, seven-sided zamin, half an acre, 
maybe, the earth for which was carried in baskets on his 
father’s and grandfather’s backs, the sustaining walls 
and earth of which may any spring be carried off in 
flood or wiped out any winter by avalanche, what would 
such an one think of Scolari’s two thousand acres? And 
what would the long line of barefoot, gray-swathed 
coolies who carry our loads on their backs, our boxes, 
our bags, our baskets, our coops of chickens, our bundles 
and our small truck generally, what would they think if 
Bedwell’s Mack should thunder by? 

Later. Interrupted by Samat bringing tiffin, pialo 
with purple grapes in it, and a surprising dish called 
malai ; the very newest of new milk boiled, and fried into 
crispy cakes, most agreeable. (We have our own little 
herd of goats with us, but this was a cow in the village, 
just ‘come in.’) 

“The day has rolled placidly on, till all my orienta¬ 
tion of the first pages is changed. The Appalachians, I 
should say, must be showing sun-kissed peaks by now 
and working-class Chicago must be at its breakfast 
ham and eggs, while the first whitening of dawn and pal¬ 
ing of stars is causing you to blow your bugle to those 
fast-shut ears of youth. Are they buried deep in 
blankets, I wonder? We never got our boys to sleep 
with heads exposed, save one who was too long for any 
blanket. It seems to be a deep instinct on the part of 
humanity, emerging from the womb, en route for the 


THE LAST ECHO 247 

tomb, to keep itself as well buried in the interim as 
possible. 

“When this letter reaches you, the sage will be golden 
in the desert as you move slowly across from the foot¬ 
hills over the sand and lava to Scolari’s. And what will 
it be like here? 

“The water in the river down there, far below, will 
have fallen and will have cleared from its workaday 
gray to the wondrous blue-green of clouded jade it 
wears when the glaciers, high up in all the tributary 
valleys, grow more chary of their streams. The higher 
ridges will every day or two show a dusting of new snow, 
a little lower down each time. On the terraces the 
grain will have passed from the green of to-day through 
the yellow of ripeness. Black-robed women, wearing 
turquoise and coral and silver ornaments, will be squat¬ 
ting along the edges, cutting the stalks with tiny saw¬ 
toothed sickles, pulling a lot of them up by the roots. 
Black dzo, crudely yoked, will have tramped out some 
of the grain on hard-trodden threshing-floors. Little 
mills like boulder-piles will have ground and ground 
and stiill be grinding. The plows will have been set 
to work here and there: poor, wooden things with not 
even an iron tip sometimes— 

“‘Man laboring the Earth, the unwearied and Deathless, 
Dear Mother that gave him birth/ 

The women and the girls will gather in the open-air 
theatres of the villages, grinding apricot seeds, rubbing 
the oil out of them on hollowed stones, shaping the pulp 
into the little cups in which they twirl their spindles. 

“The village weavers will have brought their looms 
out into street, or open space, or carved porch of old 
mesjid. On pumpkin-decorated roofs will be girls and 


248 GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 

women in black or faded purple, plucking the wool 
apart, passing it from one round birch-bark box to 
another, or spinning, spinning, endlessly spinning. 

“No whirring spinning wheel is there, in this wholly 
wheel-less land. Watch Mrs. Scolari, as she sits 
down spinning to chat a bit after dinner, or as she 
hurries still spinning from corral to hen-coop: it’s a 
good deal like that that they do their spinning here. 

“Do you know the Roumanian spinning-song that 
Carmen Sylva translated so exquisitely? It goes in my 
head as I watch these dark-skinned girls at work, or as 
I think of you with your brood in the Sierras. Girls, dif¬ 
ferent as day and night in appearance and costume, in 
the background of their minds, in their habits, yet girls 
after all, all of them, in the great essential not unlike. 

“For these girls there is only oneway open: wiving and 
mothering. For yours, there is that one way, and there 
are also others. For yours that one way may be wider 
and deeper and more lovely than for these. Still it is 
the one way, and only as wide and as deep and as lovely 
as one’s heart. 

“You share my weakness for ‘purple patches’ of 
poetry strewn over our workaday gray—like the mari¬ 
golds and zinnias and turquoise and coral these folk 
add to their dreary unwashen robes. For my farewell 
message to your girls, my god-grand-daughters, read 
them that spinning song: 

“‘What didst thou, Mother, when thou wert a maiden?—’ 

‘I was young-’ 

‘Didst thou, like me, hark to the moon’s soft footfalls 
Across the sky? 

Or didst thou watch the little stars’ betrothal?—’ 

“‘Thy father cometh home, leave the door open.—’ 


THE LAST ECHO 


249 


‘“Down to the fountain didst thou go, and there, 

Thy wooden pitcher fill, didst thou yet linger, 

Another hour, with the full pitcher by thee?— 

T was young.—’ 

“‘And did thy tears make glad thy countenance? 

And did thy sleep bring gladness to the night? 

And did thy dreams bring gladness to thy sleep? 

And didst thou smile, even by graves, despite 
Thy pity for the dead?—’ 

“‘Thy father cometh home, leave the door open.—* 

“‘Lovedst thou strawberries and raspberries, 

Because they are as red as maidens’ lips? 

Didst love thy girdle for its many pearls, 

The river and the wood, because they lie 

So close behind the village? 

Didst love the beating of thy heart, 

There close beneath thy bodice, 

Even although ’twere not thy Sunday bodice?’— 

“ ‘Thy father cometh home, leave the door open.-’ ” 

The three straight, narrow beds, side by side among 
the tortured lava blocks. “Our Sister the Moon” 
looked down on the three young heads. No giggles or 
murmur of talk on this last night. 

In the red head this was going on: 

“What a sissy that girl was! Fll bet her mother 
scolded her for staying so long at the well. And how 
could she carry water in a wooden pitcher? I’ll tell 
Father I’m not going to be a detective. I’m going to 
be a geologer. I wonder what this lava looked like, 
boiling up out of the crack? Ruth says it goes away 


250 


GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


across the valley. Wish the old cone’d shoot off again 
to-night. Lava means mud. If it was soft enough to 
be called mud once, what made it get so hard? Cuts— 
the—burros’ feet ” 

And in the brown one this: 

“My yeast hasn’t bubbled yet. ‘When your liege 
lord comes’—My liege lord! What will he be like, I 
wonder? I hope he’ll have a goldy beard like Doctor 
Roger’s, and dark eyes like Stu’s and red cheeks like 
Jim’s and Dave’s, and a laugh like Elmer’s, and be strong 
and quick like Harlan, and polite like Leif, and jolly 
and kind like all of them, and love the mountains. 
And—like goats-^-like Pat does. The moon must be 
heavenly on the Tawny Cliffs to-night. My liege—lord 
—my—liege—lord. And love me—like—Daddy—love 
—Mother-” 

And in the fair one this: 

“Arcturus just going down behind the mountain, or 
the mountain coming up to hide it, Pat says. ‘Thy 
father cometh home. Leave the door open.’ What 
was that flashing up over the Inyos? One of the 
Great Square of Pegasus, prob’ly. Right Ascension 
23, declination—I forget. Our Peg’d like a lump of 
sugar that big. ‘Thy father cometh home, leave the 
door open.’ ‘The little stars’ betrothal.’ I wonder 
if that’s Vega up there? Easier to tell them on the 
star-chart. Daddy’s coming—home—leave the door 
—open. Daddy and Mother’ll meet us—Mohave 
—two days more.-‘Thy father-’” 


APPENDIX A 

CHIEFTAINE RUTH’S “BRAIN” 

(Being a transcript of the contents of the little red and 
black note-book, which was Ruth’s dearest treasure, and 
which, always getting lost, was earnestly sought by all, and 
usually found in the Chieftaine’s own pocket. “Without 
this brain of mine, we should starve, or die some other 
miserable death, not only we but all future generations of 
Three-Corner Round,” quoth Ruth.) 


FOOD 


Rate : per person per day (Joe to provide men’s food, getting 
precisely what he and they want.) 


Meat or cheese, i lb., 5 persons, 60 days 
Flour, rice, cereal, 1 lb., 5 persons, 60 days 
Fruit, dry, \ lb., 5 persons, 60 days 
Butter, \ lb., 5 persons, 60 days 
Sugar & honey, } lb., 5 persons, 60 days . 
Flourishes, \ lb., 5 persons, 60 days 


Total 300 lbs. 
Total 300 lbs. 
Total 150 lbs. 
Total 150 lbs. 
Total 75 lbs. 
Total 150 lbs. 


1,125 lbs. 

Donkeys required. 7 

Eggs.2 apiece, 2 cases, 60 doz. 

Oranges.1 apiece, 2 cases, 60 doz. 

Donkeys required.2 

“ “ total.9 


Added for emergency amounts of everything, bought in 
panic at the last minute. 


2 







252 GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


Detail: 


Article 

Amount 

1 

Ordered 

Rec’d 

fi 

Donk. 

Remarks 

Apples 

10 lbs. 

V 

V 

V 

13 

Dry, unsulphured 

Apricots 

20 

V 

V 

V 

13 

it *< 

Bacon 

200 

V 

V 

V 

18,19 

Lean 

Baking-p. 

3 

V 

V 

V 

12 

Pure. Smallest tins 

Beans, lima 

10 

V 

V 

V 

14 

Small 

“ navy 

10 

V 

V 

V 

14 

Pressure cooks them even at 

Butter 

150 

V 

V 

V 

20 

12,000 

Cake-fruit 

2 qts. 

V 

V 

V 

12 

Orange-and-lemon-peel sugared 

Cheese 

120 lb. 

V 

V 

V 

18 

Fresh Holland, mild 

Chocolate 

10 lb. 

V 

V 

V 

12 

Emergency only—not milk 

Cocoa 

10 

V 

V 

V 

12 

Small tins 

Com 

10 

V 

V 

V 

14 

Parched 

Dates 

80 

V 

V 

V 

13 

Clean California grown 

Eggs 

60 doz. 

V 

V 

V 

32 

Packed in bran, insulated 

Figs 

10 lb. 

V 

V 

V 

13 

Black Mission 

Flour 

250 lb. 

V 

V 

V 

16,17 

Fine-ground whole wheat 

Grape juice 

12 qts. 

V 

V 

V 

12 

Emergency & treat 

Honey 

30 combs 

V 

V 

V 

21 

Packed in tins 

Lentils 

5 lb. 

V 

V 

V 

14 

Makes navy beans tastier 

Macaroni 

20 lb. 

V 

V 

V 

15 


Marmalade 

2 doz pts. 

V 

V 

V 

21 

Home-made 

Milk, dry 

10 lb. 

V 

V 

V 

12 


“ malted 

12 qts. 

V 

V 

V 

12 


Nuts 

30 lb. 

V 

V 

V 

12 

Shelled under sanitary condi- 







tions 

Oatmeal 

20 

V 

V 

V 

15 

Steel-cut; chiefly used in bread 

Olive oil 

4 qts. 

V 

V 

V 

21 

For trout and doughnuts 

Onions 

30 lbs. 

V 

V 

V 

14 


Oranges 

2 cases 

V 

V 

V 

31 

Valencia; bought San Fernando 







in May, further S. in mid- 







summer 

Raisins 

40 lbs. 

V 

V 

V 

13 

Cluster for lunches; seedless 







for cooking 

Rice 

80 lbs. 

V 

V 

V 

15 

Natural brown 

Semolina 

10 

V 

V 

V 

15 


Soup 

10 

V 

V 

V 

12 

Dynamite, powdered 

Spices & Seasonings 





12 


Chili pep. 

1 tin 

V 

V 

V 



“ see. 

2 bots. 

V 

V 

V 



Cinnamon 

3 tins 

V 

V 

V 



Cloves 

1 tin 

V 

V 

V 



Curry 

«< 

V 

V 

V 



Ginger 


V 

V 

V 



Marjoram 


V 

V 

V 



Nutmeg 


V 

V 

V 



Paprika 


V 

V 

V 



Pepper, bl. 


V 

V 

V 



“ red 


V 

V 

V 



“ white 

ii 

V 

V 

V 



Sage 

a 

V 

V 

V 



Salt 

12 lbs. 

V 

V 

V 



Thyme 

1 tin 

V 

V 

V 


Donkey salt in men's list 

Sugar, brown 

25 lbs. 

V 

V 

V 

14 


“ loaf 

5 

V 

V 

V 

14 

For donks only 

“ maple 

25 

V 

V 

V 

14 


Vegetables 

5 

V 

V 

V 

14 

Evaporated 

Water-crackers 

25 lbs. 

V 

V 

V 

16 

Emergency 

Yeast 

300 cakes 







60 pkgs 

V 

V 

V 

12 

Dry 

























CHIEFTAINE RUTH’S “BRAIN” 


253 


Pack Donkeys 


No. 

Name 

Back 

Top 

Tarp? 

1 

Applesauce Cake 

Sapper’s kit 


No 

2 

Black 

Repair and harness kit 

Block & tackle 

Yes 

3 

Red 

Men’s food 

Picket-pins 

Yes 

4 

Jacob 

44 a 

Men’s tent 

No 

5 

Pinyon 

44 44 

Toilet tents 

No 

6 

Frisky 

“ beds 

Tent poles 

No 

7 

Jiffy 

Tents 

Forester’s tent 

No 

8 

Luella 

Grain 

Nose-bags and salt 

No 

9 

Nigger 

Grain 

Nose-bags and salt 

No 

10 

Pat 

Water 

Lanterns 

Yes 

11 

Harlequin 

44 

Goat-skin bags 

Yes 

12 

Piute 

Food flourishes 


Yes 

13 

Shrimp 

Fruit 


Yes 

14 

Etta 

Sugar & Vegetables 


No 

15 

Dagobert 

Flour & Cereals 


No 

16 

Buster 

Flour 


No 

17 

Chubby 

Flour 


No 

18 

Java 

Bacon & Cheese 

Meat-tent 

Yes 

19 

Geronimo 

Bacon 


Yes 

20 

Balaam 

Butter 


Yes 

21 

Carlos 

Overflow Food 

Picket-pins 

Yes 

22 

Jimbo 

Grain 

Nose-bags and salt 

No 

23 

Tomasino 

Overcoats 

Rain-coats 

No 

24 

C. B. Samson 

Personal, E. &. P. 

Bathtubs 

No 

25 

XCalibur 

Personal, C. &. P. 


No 

26 

Pegasus 

Books 


Yes 

27 

Pinto 

Rocks, Maps, Stationery 

Medical kit 

No 

28 

’Op-it 

Personal, Ruth 

No 

29 

Beast 

Beds E. &. P. 


No 

30 

Cockleburr 

Beds C. & P. 

Picket-pins 

No 

31 

Gossoon 

Oranges 


Yes 

32 

Buck 

Eggs 

Picket-pins 

Yes 

33 

Outlaw 

Small stores 

No 

34 

Akbos 

Pressure Cooker 


Yes 

35 

Cap’n Kidd 

Fireless Cookers 


Yes 

36 

Davy Jones 

Cook-boxes 

Buckets 

Yes 

37 

Right-Hip 

Pantry (Small quantity 
of all supplies) 

Grain 


Yes 

38 

Jo Jo Gla 

Nose-bags and salt 

No 


THEORETICAL CAMP ARRANGEMENT FOR OPEN COUNTRY 


1. 

2 . 

3 - 

4 - 

5 - 

6 . 

7 - 

8 . 

9 - 

10. 

11. 


(Only occasionally used: most camps require adaptation.) 
The four sides of a square 


Tools 

Repair 

Men’s food 

Men’s food 

Men’s food 

Men’s beds 

Tents 

Grain 

Grain 

Water 

Water 


► Men 




12. 

Flourishes 

13. 

Fruit 

14. 

Sugar; vegetables 

IS- 

Flour & Cereal 

16. 

Flour 

17. 

Flour 

18. 

Bacon & Cheese 

19. 

Bacon 

20. 

Butter 

21. 

Overflow 


Food 

















254 GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


22. Grain 
C.O.^ 

F. J. 

J.H. \ Riders 

G. L. 

N. J 

23. Overcoats 

24. Personal, E. & P. 

25. Personal, C. & P. 

26. Books 

27. Rocks, Maps, Stationery 


28. Personal, R. 

29. Beds, E. & P. 

30. Beds, C. & P. 

31. Oranges 

32. Eggs 

33. Small stores 

34. Pressure 

35. Fireless Kitchen 

36. Cook boxes l 

37. Pantry 

38. Grain J 


CLOTHES 

Wool is best for all weathers, because the temperatures 
change so suddenly. 

Wool can be washed with very little shrinkage, in cold 
water with plenty of good soap, and plenty of rinsing, and 
no wringing. If washed frequently enough, it does not need 
much rubbing. While drying, garments should be stretched 
and caressed a bit. All garments should be made large 
enough to allow for some shrinkage. A tuck in the sleeve, 
for instance. 

Low shoes, leather-soled moccasins are most satisfactory, 
supplemented by snow-packs. Grease well. Cone-headed 
Hungarian hobnails. They should be rusted in. Small 
brass shoe-nails set rather thickly in the sole edges make shoes 
last longer. Good leather shoe-laces, plenty of them. 
Rubber soles are good for rocks, bad for wet rocks. Crepe 
rubber soles, if genuine and properly put on, are excellent, 
though hard to get. Poor ones come off quickly. Soft- 
soled moccasins for camp. N. B. Feet always grow. 
Stockings should be wool. Feet blister more easily in cotton. 
Lots of darning yarn is needed. Leather heels, tied around 
the ankle, save darning. 

Cellular underdrawers, easily washed. 

Blanket pajamas and sheepskin slippers are warm in bed, 
and on the way from dressing-tent to outdoor bed. 


CHIEFTAINE RUTH’S ‘‘BRAIN’* 255 

Tams are good against sun and wind; are light, and be¬ 
coming to most girls. 

Rain capes, really waterproof. Rain hats. Knees, water¬ 
proof, to buckle to belt and come well below knee: only 
possible way to keep knees dry. 

Mittens are warmer than even fur gloves. 

Parka indispensable. Light, warm, wind-proof, covering 
head and not encumbering body with great length. Belted 
in, very warm. 

Scarf for kummerbund: invaluable. To be taken off 
when climbing or when warm, and put on again when 
cooler. 

All coats should have buttons to close tightly at neck 
and at wrist. 

Good Bedford cord knickers outwear any others, and 
pay for themselves in the long run. 

Belt hose supporters. Brassiere type shields. 


SMALL STORES 


Buttons. 

■ • • 33 


Candles, 30 lbs. 

. 12 

Fat coach or 
miner’s 8 hr. 

shift 

Cloth for patches, etc. 

• 33 


Cold cream. 

• • • 33 


Matches. 



Needles. 

• • • 33 


Soap, 72 cakes. 


Always get more 

Tape. 


Heavy linen 

Thread. 

. . . 13 

a a 

Toilet paper. 



Tooth brushes . 



“ floss, 3 doz. spools . . 

• • • 33 


“ powder . 



Yam. 

















256 GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


Stationery , all in 27 


Drawing instruments 

Erasers 

Ink 

Paints 


Paper 
Pencils 
Sketch books 
Sketch blocks 


BEDS 

As Galton says, experienced travellers take as much pains 
to make their beds comfortable as a dog does. 

Bed-site. Level necessary, convex surface, slope up, 
slope down, slope sidewise all hinder comfortable sleep; with 
entrenching tool easy enough to level off a spot anywhere; 
eliminate all projecting stones, roots, or even small plants. 
A boy once said he was used to sleeping with 14 China ani¬ 
mals, but my girls are more like Hans Andersen’s pea- 
princess. Ground much warmer than any cot. Keep en¬ 
tirely out of wind, if possible. Otherwise put feet into 
wind. A low protection will keep wind off. Never choose 
bed-sites near lake edge or on grass. Much warmer on rock. 
If mosquitoes exist they will be found near water, in grass, 
or woods. 

Bedding. Tarpaulin 8' x 8', sewn grommets 12" apart, on 
all sides, rope spliced at one end to use as draw-string at foot. 

3 good blankets; thin wool sheets; pillow—stout bag filled 
with extra clothes neatly folded. 

To make bed. On level, smooth site lay, if desired, two 
hair pads, donkey-side down. (Most girls scorn them after 
the first week.) 

Spread tarpaulin out flat. 

Spread blankets one above another, and then sheets, on 
tarp near edge of right side as you stand at head. 

Fold blankets in three, lengthwise, toward the right, so 
that there are six thicknesses underneath. 

Turn under at foot, a full 12". 



CHIEFTAINE RUTH’S “BRAIN” 257 

Fold tarp in three, over blankets, same way, wide over¬ 
lap beneath. 

Draw foot of tarp close, with rope threaded through 
grommets, and turn, so that rain, wind, and snow will not 
drive in. 

Keep tarp at top long enough to draw over head in case 
of rain. 

Be sure, in rainy weather, that upper edge projects about 
12" over lower, else it will drain into bed. 

Button-flap pocket on tarp for match-safe, handkerchief, 
or other small night-time necessities. 

One set of knickers, middies, stockings, and drawers should 
be turned inside out at night to air. There is rarely dew. 

Two sets should be kept going, so as to change each day. 

Shoes turned upside down for night. Shake in morning. 
Scorpions rare but not unheard of. 

Don’t make beds till about to retire, on account of snakes— 
also rare. (In fact, I’ve never seen one above 6,ooo'.) 

Aluminium water-bottles, with tight corks, in felt cases, 
make good foot-warmers, and furnish a little warm water 
for ablutions in the morning. 

Mosquito headnets. Best kinds are made of fine bobbinet 
stretched over two featherbone circles 18" in diameter, 
13" apart, net extending 12" below lower ring; tape at back 
of neck to tie. Fold easily, are light and adequate and com¬ 
paratively unobjectionable. If mosquitoes come, it is 
usually for an hour after sunset or an hour before. 

Usually two blankets are enough with the blanket pajamas. 
The third is for extra cold weather. 

TENTS 

Gypsy. Far and away the best tent is Edgington’s Three- 
Pole, the one Galton refers to as “a modification of the gypsy 
tent.” In time of storm I put it up. For dressing I put up 


258 GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 

an ordinary conical tent without sidewalls—useful, but most 
uninviting. Girls are trained into house-bodies at home. 
If they had a chance at the gypsy every day, they’d stay in 
it half the time. 

The gypsy is made of green rot-proof linen duck, best 
quality. Size n' x ii'. Re-enforced on ridges, center of 
sides, diagonals, bottom and doorway by heavy linen tape 
22", inside. Heavy 2" linen tape tabs to be sewn to this 
through walls on outside for 3 guy-ropes on each side 2' 
above bottom. All tapes cross at peak. End flaps detach¬ 
able, lacing to tent, so that packs may be adjusted if neces¬ 
sary. 

Sod-cloth 12" wide, same material as tent. Doors, with 
12" sod-cloth, to lace shut, with loops. Sand-fly net, stoutly 
re-enforced with tapes made to sew into doorway and ven¬ 
tilators when wanted; should overlap about 12"; to be held 
shut by sandbags laid on bottom. Corners of tent re¬ 
enforced outside by 2' lengths of tarred rope. Six feet of rope 
at all pin grommets in bottom of tent and flaps and on ends 
of all tackles, so that big rocks may be substituted for pins 
when necessary. Hooks at ends of end-pole tackles where 
tackle attaches to stake or rock, so that endflaps may be 
quickly secured and released without tying or untying. 
Doors and endflaps to reef back separately. Light ropes 
attached to center ornament with hooks at ends to hook 
into tied reefing-strings on side of doorway, and prevent 
wall from sagging at this point when doorway is open. 


CHIEFTAINE RUTH’S “BRAIN” 


259 





X = Flap to reef back toward center pole to 
admit brazier. Lace shut when not in use. 


Triangular extensions to be detachable, to admit 
of adjusting packs for weight. 


Fig. 2. Ground sheet. 







26 o GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 




Fig. 4. Ventila¬ 
tor from out¬ 
side. 


Stiff wire frame 

Flap to close 
mouth worked 
from below by 
string. 



Center pole 2" 

' End poles i|" 

Center pole sleeve 8" 

End pole sleeve 7" 

Stout sleeve not likely to get bent 
in transit riveted through pole. 
Long splices where poles meet. 


Fig. 5. Poles—all poles best straight-grain, well-seasoned ash. No 
joint longer than 3'. Render spikes on poles harmless in transit, by blocks 
chained to poles. Ornaments for all pole-tops. 


Fig. 6. Pins—Dural¬ 
umin pins heavy, metal, 
very tough. 15" Angle 
jV' thick. Heavy slid¬ 
ing pin, 2" long, to play 
easily 1" below top, to 
keep rope from slipping 
off. 



Dotted lines indicate direction of holes. The moving 
end goes through (A). The immovable part is slipped 
through (B) in such fashion that when the rope is drawn 
Fig. 7. Tent taut and the slide let go of, there will be a sharp kink in 
rope slides. the rope preventing slipping. 

Mallet—wooden mallet, metal bound, metal kept back from edge so that 
it cannot injure pins in driving. 


H) 






















CHIEFTAINE RUTH’S ‘‘BRAIN” 


261 



Toilet tent. 3 poles 2-joint, i\" 9 5'; fit into sleeves sewn 
inside. Material heavy, green, rot-proof flax. 8"sod cloth 
all around. Size 4' on a side. 

Ventilators 15" x 12" at bottom with flaps to reef back 
and tie down, one in (A), one in (B), one in the back, which 
would be (C), near top. Sand-fly not sewn in; re-enforced 
with tapes. Top (D) sewn at back; one grommet at (O) 
through which spike of pole (X) is thrust when desired. 
Opening at top under this, closed with sand-fly net re-en- 
forced with tapes. Flap on edges of (D) to hang down or 
reef back as desired. The whole of (D) to reef back. Re¬ 
enforced sand-fly net door, reefing back (upper strings set 
close to top) on both sides pole (X). Hook at bottom and 
middle to hold door shut. 

Forester’s tent. Abercrombie’s, with addition of 8' sheet 
made to lace to one side or to lace across having a set of 
reefing strings down each diagonal. 

Possibilities of this tent for all sorts of locations unlimited. 

Conical tent. Ordinary, wall-less, one for dressing; one 
for men’s use. Hoop at top and adjustable hood, for ven¬ 
tilation. 

Bags. Every tent has its own bag, of heavy linen duck, 
the gypsy’s adjustable to take flaps or not. 










262 GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


Every tent to have a pole-bag, with sleeve for each joint 
—all marked. 

Every tent to have a pin-bag. N.B. Never let a pin be 
taken up unless pin-bag is at hand to receive it instantly. 
Count pins after each collecting. 

Every tent to have its own ground-sheet bag, and a bag 
for its tools and ornaments. 

Each bag to have four stout linen loops 2", sewn, 2 on 
opposite sides, centers 11" apart, to take carrying-straps. 

HARNESS 

Packers as a rule are slovenly about harness: results, sore 
backs and continual break-down on march. Bad for girls 
to see inhumane treatment and slovenly work. Also I 
can’t stand it to have animals have sore backs. Don’t 
grudge any amount of trouble involved in personal super¬ 
vision of harness and packing. Explicit directions given a 
good harness maker will get good results. 

Saddles: Humane tree. Shortened and carefully rounded 
and bevelled at ends; all rivets drawn up snug. Solid 
copper rivets only to be used in all harness and packs. 

Single girth. 6" wide; big leather safes under the rings, 
neatly bevelled where sewn to girth; small ring sewn to center 
of girth for hold-back snaps on donkeys that need such. 

Strap. Stout, looped about each fork, playing freely (not 
tacked), to hold latigo rings; the ends on the off side sewn to 
the ring on that side; the ends on the nigh side buckled to 
the ring there, to admit of adjustment to a new donkey, or 
to a change of feed on the same donkey. The rear buckle 
straps have blocks of leather, about §" thick, screwed down 
firmly close behind them, so that, when the breeching which 
buckles into the latigo ring drags back, or rather when the 
saddle drags forward, on steep descents, the ring will not 
give back and let the saddle slip forward. 


CHIEFTAINE RUTH’S “BRAIN” 263 

Latigo straps. i|". 

Breeching. Stout duck, 4J" (preferably flax) sewn double, 
no seam on edges or underside; buckles at both ends kept 
from chafing flanks by carefully bevelled safes. 

Breast-collar. Stout duck, 3J"; straps for breast-collar 
passed through slit under forward fork-leg, near end, where 
same rests on tree, then turned up at right angles and screwed 
to side of leg. Buckles sewed to ends of breast-collar, and 
kept off shoulders by safes. 

N. B. Breeching and breast-collar buckles must be well 
out from under packs to allow adjusting on march. Tighten 
breeching on steep down grade , ease on steep up grade. 

Top-pack latigo. 7' x 1"; one end laced to forward fork. 
Hook attached to rear fork, hanging free of all straps there 
when side packs are on. Similar hook on strap so attached 
that it can be slipped up or down according to size of top- 
pack, and will hold against heavy strain, wherever placed. 

To lash top pack: Slip strap into lower hook, then into 
upper, being careful to keep moving part of strap under the 
part that does not move, and avoiding twists. Tighten 
as if hooks were blocks. Make fast with half bow-knot. 
This obviates using the diamond, holding top-pack firmly 
even when donkey rolls down hill. A clever girl can do it 
alone. Tightness is necessary. 

Box-pads. Heavy duck, stuffed with hair, IJ" thick, close- 
tufted, gap left in center to keep pressure off saddle rings; 
adjustable loops (shaganappies) to sling to forks, light rod 
on upper edge to stiffen; size about 23" x 12". 

Saddle-pads. Stout, hair, with heavy duck square same 
size, sewn to pad down center, to protect pad from wear. 
Size 36" x 36". 

Canvas Square. Same duck as that sewn to the hair-pad. 
Same size. First, place hair-pad, then one blanket, then 
square. Blanket is thus protected from donkey’s sweat 


264 GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 

and from wear from saddle-tree. In this way blankets can 
be carried without counting as packs, kept dry'in wet weather 
and sweet at all times. I always use my own bed blankets 
in this way. They are spread and sunned as long as the 
sun is out, every day, except when marching, and imme¬ 
diately upon unpacking, on march-days. 

Bell-collar. 2"; stout buckle. 

Bells. Chiming bells can’t be heard. American cowbells 
are loud enough, but horrible. Basque, Swiss, and Lhasa 
bells are good in tone. 

Halter. Very stout leather, but soft, with carefully bevelled 
edges. Stout laces. Giant snap, with loop bent up snug 
so that it cannot catch on anything, snapped into ring 
back toward nose. 


Laced, lap 
outside 

Fig. 10. Halter. 

Pull-collar. Same width as breast-collar; D’s in place of 
buckles at ends; length of straps adjustable, so that the two 
D’s may be made to reach within an inch or two of forward 
fork. 

Pull-strap. Very stout; ij" x 7'; stout D’s at both ends; 
length adjustable at one end by stout lacing. Stout snap, 
best quality, bent into one D, to snap easily into the two 
D’s of the pull-collar. Pull-strap then passed under both 
forks, and over a short stout strap, laid across between the 
legs of the rear fork as low as possible, and screwed to both. 
Set low enough to allow pull-strap to play easily. The other 
D is to snap into the giant snap on following donkey’s nose. 

In emergency, swing snap until both ring and D are in the 


Sewn 

Riveted ^ 

Stout ring / ^ Laced 



CHIEFTAINE RUTH’S "BRAIN” 265 

solid upper part of snap, and all strain is removed from 
playing part. Release trigger, swing shank of snap back 
until D is released, when it will fly out with great violence. 
Care must be taken to turn the snap always with its back to 
donkey’s nose. Otherwise when released the heavy snap will 
remain with the pull-strap, and resemble shrapnel as it 
passes (?) the packer’s head. 

Lead-straps. About 6 for 40 donkeys. 

Nose-bags. With leather bottoms, not more than 6" deep, 
or 6§" in diameter. Buckle head-straps. Bags cut to nest 
easily. Smaller bags for colts. Pack donkey-salt with 
bags, 5 lb. cakes, square, wired. 

Picket-chains. J" steel chain, welded at lapped end. 
End-to-end weld not strong enough. About 60', split links 
riveted into ends to take snaps from the pins. 

Pins: stout iron, 15"; diamond-shaped point for easy ex¬ 
tracting. 

Split links: at 6' intervals for hobbles. 

Single hobbles: with stout snaps best quality, and swivel 
about 3" long. 

Stout sole-leather box, made to fit each picket-chain 
with links and hobbles on; a buckle-strap on each side of 
box to secure it to forks, the box resting between forks as 
top-pack. 

N.B. Java will bite ropes in two. Etta will pull up a 
picket-pin with her teeth, if she is near enough to it. 

Ropes. 6 sling ropes, 30' long, for emergencies, A best 
yacht manilla. 

6 lash ropes, 40' long, with 6|" cinches, best yacht 
manilla. 

2 lariats, 50', best quality. 

6 quirts. 

Tarps. 1 for each person’s bed, 8' x 8', sewn grommets, 
12" apart on all sides. 


266 GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 

Enough extra to cover all food-packs and use in kitchen. 
Green rot-proof duck is best. 

Packs: fireless cookers and pressure cookers. Stout fibre 
boxes, canvas covers; sling-straps riveted at an angle to for¬ 
ward and rear ends of box. Exact angle and position must 
be determined by experiment. 

All sling-straps buckle. Very stout straps and ditto 
buckle. 

Medium-size pressure cooker-box, conveniently made 
same size as larger fireless; will then take three nested dish- 
pans, iron disks, and much other stuff to balance fireles-s. 
Each article must have its special strap, to secure it in box. 

General packs: fibre boxes. Very stout fibre; 20" x 10" 
x 13 " with one tray, 2" deep, each of light fibre, and one 
sheet of heavy fibre, which latter can be held down at any 
height in box by single buckle-strap attached by ends to 
bottom of box at sides, inside. As the pack’s contents 
decrease, tighten adjustable sheet lower and lower down to 
keep contents firm. Stout buckle sling-straps, riveted to 
one side as far up as cover of box will permit. Small buckle- 
strap across mouth of box to take hook of scale in balancing. 
Heavy buckle-strap over cover, end to end, passing through 
two leather loops on cover, securely riveted to box. 

N.B. Solid copper rivets used on all packs. 

Lining. Most boxes lined throughout with 3-ply Cabot’s 
seaweed quilt. Double strip of same, covered with cloth, 
for lining of lid. 

Ventilation. Orange and cheese boxes must have venti¬ 
lation-holes on side toward the donkey, and in the bottom, 
small enough to discourage scorpions. Care must be taken 
in camp to see that these boxes are set up on pebbles, and 
the punctured sides turned toward each other to keep 
out driving rain. Nothing but a tarpaulin will keep out 
driving snow. The covers should be taken off these boxes 


CHIEFTAINE RUTH’S “BRAIN” 267 

every clear night. They should be well shaded during the 
day. 

All cheeses must be separated from each other by J" 
excelsior. Bacon, taken from its papers, ditto. 

Butter must be wrapped in cloth, each bar, and the whole 
packed in large muslin bag. There must be at least three 
layers of seaweed lining butter-boxes. Whole bag taken out 
each night and exposed under sky, with wet cloth over. 

Kyacks (alforkises). Soft, stout leather; 9" x 13" x 20", 
with 2-buckle covers. Rear corners of covers must also 
buckle down, to keep snow out; small buckle-strap at each 
rear corner for this purpose. Stout ring riveted on, near 
neck of bag at back, inside, to take scale-hook. 

Grain sacks to fit kyacks, with tie-throats. 

Cook boxes. Of clear white pine, well seasoned; 20" x 
14" x 8|" deep, inside measure; brass corners. Tops cleated 
outside. One top hinged with leather hinges and fitted 
inside with leather racks for utensils; sides inside similarly 
fitted; leather screwed down with round head brass screws. 
One top unhinged, to be used underside up for rolling and 
cutting board. Under edges of covers rabbeted to strengthen 
box against shock, when strapped tightly shut. One stout 
buckle-strap for each box. 

Utensils on cover. Toasting-fork, 2 large mixing-spoons, 
butcher knife, squeegee, tin-opener, tennis-racquet egg- 
beater, 2 paring-knives, corkscrew. 

In boxes: spice tins: <^7 cook-book; canisters of tea, cocoa, 
sugar, soap flakes; meat-saw; carver’s steel; tea-ball; magic 
mitt cleaners; dish-cloth; dish-mops; towels; holders; small 
scale; chamois roll of knives, forks, and spoons; nesting tin 
trays in lieu of tables. 

N.B. Cooking-pots each in black-lined case, nest inside 
buckets, carried as top-pack. Other dishes packed in loose- 
lid cook-box, or with pressure cooker. 


268 GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


Water-carriers. Narrow fibre boxes, each containing eight 
one-gallon friction-top tins with handles. Arranged in 
tiers of four, separated by two loose strips of wood to protect 
tops of lower tier from bottoms of upper. 

N.B. These tins are good for one season only. Drain 
imperfectly. Keep on the lookout for aluminium cans with 
rounded corners. Larger tins would be too heavy for girls 
to handle. Goat-skin water-bags for additional use. 

Sapper’s kit. Fibre case as per diagram. Tools bound in 
securely, with ropes snapped into small hold-back snaps, 
one of which is riveted to back of box, on each side of each 
tool, or each group of tools which happen to pack neatly 
together. 

Ring for scale 

Length 20" 

Width 8" 

Height 14" 


Fig. 11. Sapper’s kit. 

Tools. 2 sawed-off U. S. Army crow-bars, about 3' long, 
with same length of heavy pipe to extend them to normal 
length; 1 eight-pound sledge with 2 extra helves; 6 short- 
handled Army picks; 3 short-handled prospector’s picks 
with hammer heads; 4 3I lb. axes: name of owner burnt 
on helve (Extra helves) (Joe’s curses on any one using his 
axe!); 1 billhook; axe whetstone. 

Block and tackle kit. 400' best yacht manilla rope; 1 
stout triple galvanized block; 1 ditto double; 2 ditto single. 



CHIEFTAINE RUTH’S “BRAIN” 269 

Swivel beckets both ends. If swivel beckets are not to be 
had, stout swivels must be put on with riveted split links. 
Giant snaps are useful on some of these blocks. Broom- 
handle with stout snap, which just takes the rope, lashed to 
one end, is useful to prevent blocks twisting. The snap is 
snapped on to the bight which doesn’t move, about the 
middle, and the handle allowed to rest on the rock. It 
will have to be shifted if the blocks approach closer than this. 

Harness and repair kit. Hardware: heavy copper wire, 
6 small spools; light copper wire, 3 small spools; assorted 
brass screws, 6 doz.; assorted nails, 6 doz.; split links, small¬ 
est size, 2 doz.; next two sizes 2 doz. each—all these gal¬ 
vanized if obtainable. Stove bolts, assorted sizes, 3 doz., 
round or square heads, iron. Three-legged iron shoe-last, 
one leg for heel, one for small boot, one for large: makes good 
anvil. Hungarian cone-head hobnails, or Swiss, 10 lbs. 
Sewing-kit: 3 sailors’ palms; 3 doz. sail needles, three-corner, 
3 sizes; 2 baling needles; 2 doz. harness needles; 1 lb. spool best 
flax harness thread, 8 strand; 2 half-pound spools 4 strand; 
wax; 2 curved awls; 3 straight awls; 2 small marlin spikes. 

Leather: ^ oiled raw-hide for latigos and strings; the 
back of a specially thick one, such as is used in tug leather, 
for straps; a first-class buck or calf-skin for general purposes. 
Good strap cutter. (Joe would be miserable without this.) 
2 leather-cutting knives. 

Tools: Holzapfel’s leather case kit, with regular handle 
and extra handle to take ordinary tools, as well as those of 
the kit. 

Kit tools for regular handle: rip saw; crosscut saw; key¬ 
hole saw; iron saw with extra blades; J" chisel; J" chisel; 

gouge; rat-tail file for iron; flat, pointed iron file; flat 
wood file; 2 gimlets, 1 square reamer, iron or wood; 1 rose 
reamer, iron or wood; screw-driver; 3 brad awls; 2 hammers; 
I claw; 2 soldering irons; knife. 


2 7 o GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 

Other tools of regular kit, not for handle: vise; iron drill; 
oil stone; oil can; solder in box; cold chisel; watchmaker’s 
screw-driver; parallel pliers, 5§" and 6|"; small stillson 
wrench 6"; small flat wrench; leather punch; nail set; 2' rule. 

Extras: bit, ordinary; rivet set for copper rivets; hoof 

rasp with four surfaces of different fineness for wood work. 

1 Duck for mending. Extra tape. Extra halters, hobbles, 
snaps. 

Medical kit : Top-pack, for ready use on march. Heavy 
fibre. Metal corners. Contents: dressings: set of splints; 
wooden swabs; 2" compressed bandage; 1" ditto; compressed 
head dressings; \ oz. compressed absorbent cotton; 1 yd. 
compressed gauze; 1 yd. double cyanide gauze; 1 yd. bismuth 
gauze; triangular bandages. B. & W. for all. Medicines: 
chinosol, boric, cascara, sodium chloride, carbonate of soda, 
iodine, ammonia, carron oil. Tabloids and vaporoles. 

Instruments: thermometers; forceps, general and mouse- 
tooth; scalpels; scissors, blunt blade and pointed blade; 
probe; director; tourniquet; irrigating syringe; tweezers; 
small, thin, sharp-edged file for cutting off necks of vaporoles 
when only part of contents is wanted; very tiny corks for 
these; assorted corks. 


(A) Pocket at each end 
for saddle-forks; just large 
enough and far enough 
apart to admit forks snug¬ 
ly- 


Fig. 12 

Miscellaneous. Numdas, close felts from Central Asia, 
are good to put over bacon, cheese, and butter packs before 
sunrise each morning, to preserve the night’s coldness. 
















CHIEFTAINE RUTH’S “BRAIN” 


271 



(C, D, etc.) 
Removable boxes of 
various sizes. 



Tray. 


Keep maps in long fibre tube case. Have plenty of mend¬ 
ing tissue and adhesive cloth. 

Mount topographic sheets of region for pocket use. 
Cavalry field sketching-board good for girls who like 
to make route-maps. 

Have all blankets dry-cleaned and stored each autumn. 
Much more satisfactory than to have girls bring their own. 

Small oval brass tags on each article with brand, and 
number indicating which donkey carries it. Put on with 
hog rings. 

Paraffined cloth food-bags, flat-bottomed, for all food. 
Cannot be washed without losing waterproof quality. 
Buy, or make new yearly. 

Dark glasses with leather sides—extra pairs. 

Index everything. Always keep same arrangements. 
Have same donkey carry same pack from year to year. 

Brown linen bath towels. Boil new ones thoroughly. 
Unbleached linen dish-towels. 















272 GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 

Large mica-sided candle-lanterns. Small lanterns smoke 
up badly. There is room in large size (12" x 12") for two 
candles. Tin-can lanterns are not bad—one end knocked 
out, hole in one side for candle, wire handle from end to end, 
above, and holes for ventilation. 

Fat coach candles, or a miner’s 8-hour candle are best. 

Electric flashes and carbide lamps fail in emergencies. 

Tooth-floss, waxed, is vital. No brushing can do the 
trick, and dentists are not. 

Each girl must have, always, on her person, some kind of 
pocket. The old boys wore wide belts to which they at¬ 
tached, by leather strings, little leather cases containing: 
knife, compass, rattlesnake-kit (tourniquet, lancet, and 
caustic: “tie, cut, burn”), dark glasses. I like best my 
small fishing-basket, hung over my shoulder by broad web¬ 
bing. It is lined with sateen, and divided into three parts, 
one for sewing-kit, one for toilet-kit, one for writing-kit. 
The sloping top makes a good desk. It is easily emptied 
and cleaned. 

Dishes. 3 large aluminium dish-pans, very heavy; 3 large 
galvanized buckets; nesting aluminium dekchies, with rim 
around top. Their covers make good platters. (Pressure 
and fireless pots are useful, of course.) Pudding-bowls 
of various sizes, with lids that clamp on. Broad-bladed 
army knives and short forks; heavy aluminium frying-pan 
with detachable handle; big aluminium mixing-bowls; oval 
aluminium water-bottles, flat-bottomed; silver-lined wooden 
bowls for drinking. 

N.B. Granite and enamel ware chip. Aluminium lasts 
for ever. 

Carry a few copper plates and bowls from Central Asia 
for picturesqueness. 

Stout straps (“Spiders”) with hooks for clothes, to buckle 
around tent-poles. 


CHIEFTAINE RUTH’S “BRAIN” 


273 

Folding, circular, canvas bath-tubs, and wash-basins. 

Stout knapsacks, not large or heavy. Have them hang 
so as to rest on buttocks, not on small of back. The Nor¬ 
wegian wooden frame to hold the sack off the back is useful 
on any long jaunt. 

Luncheon rate: per man, per meal: J lb. meat or cheese; 

§ lb. bread; ^ lb. butter; 1 orange; 
handful of dates, raisins, or figs; 
nuts. 

Put hair-pads under dish-pans 
when kneading bread to protect 
bottom of pans. Trays are invaluable: in¬ 
dividual ones for each person’s use while 
eating; one in each box to lay articles on 
temporarily when seeking something else. 
Always keep a tarp by repair-kit. Use 
tools nowhere else except on the tarp. Rotten 
granite is bad stuff to find small articles in. 

The most precious article in the outfit is our 

Lg- irreplaceable French scale: It keeps the packs 

evenly balanced, saving no end of trouble on marches and 

preventing sore backs, which, in spite of all our careful 
saddling, would be inevitable if packs were uneven. Much 
more accurate than an ordinary spring-balance. Weighs to 
5° kg. 

Get really good shrill policeman’s whistle for each girl. 
Be sure she understands that any signal, repeated three 
times, means serious trouble. So far have not found one 
that can be heard far. 



PEGASUS PACK 


(A donkey-load of books never arranged in any order.) 

Galton . “ Art of Travel” 

Soddy .“Interpretation of Radium’ 3 


274 GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


pegasus’ pack— Continued. 


Muir .... 

. . “Stickeen” 

Grenfell . 

. “Adrift on an Ice-Pan” 

Bridges 

. . “Spirit of Man” 

Gregory . 

“Cuchulain of Muirthemne” 

Nordmann 

. . “Le Royaume des Cieux” (pre¬ 

sented by Pat) 

PlRSSON 

. . “Rocks and Rock-Minerals & 

Schuchert Geology” 

Kephart . 

. “Camping & Woodcraft” 

Royal Geographical Society 

“Hints to Travellers” 

Armstrong 

“Western Wild Flowers” 

Hall .... 


SUDWORTH . 

. “Trees of the Pacific Slope” 
(Government publication) 

Shaler 

“Origin and Nature of Soils” 
(in U. S. G. S. report, 1891) 

Pyle .... 

. . “Robin Hood” 

Couch .... 


Couch .... 

“Oxford Book of English Verse” 

Scott .... 

. . “Book of the Sea” 

Schurig-Gotz 

“Tabulae Caelestes” (Presented 
by Pat) 

Bartholomew 

. “Advance Atlas of Physical 
Geography” (U. S. G. S. 
maps in Pinto’s pack.) 

Fuller Sisters . 

. . “Old English Folk-Songs” 

Quarter Mistress 

Q7 “Cook-Book” 

Bole .... 

“The Aunts’ Cook-Book” 

Farmer . . . 

“Boston Cooking-School Cook- 
Book” 

Homer .... 








CHIEFTAINE RUTH’S "BRAIN” 

pegasus’ pack— Continued. 


Moulton . 

. "Modern Readers’Bible” (small 
volumes) 

King 

. "Mountaineering in the Sierra 
Nevada” 

Fowler 

"Concise Oxford Dictionary” 

Bailey 

"Handbook of Birds of the 
Western U. S.” 

Blackwood 

"The Centaur” 

Blackwood 

. "Prisoner in Fairyland” 

Kipling 

. "Jungle Book” 

Kipling 

. . . "Puck of Pook’s Hill” 

Sabatier . 

. "Life of St. Francis of Assisi” 

Dana . 

"Text-book of Mineralogy” 

Stevenson 

"Kidnapped” 

Stevenson 

"Vailima Letters” 

Drinkwater . 

. . . "Lincoln” 

Milham 

. “Meteorology” 

SCHIMPER 

. "Plant Geography” 

Butler 

"Erewhon” 

Fosdick 

"Meaning of Prayer” 

Gibson 

. "Sharp Eyes” 

Ruskin . . 

"Praeterita” 


HEALTH AND CHARACTER NOTES 

(These haphazard notes are extracts from the red locked diary, which 
might have been called Ruth’s heart.) 

Always bring the girls up gradually, camping, say, at 
4,000' (Owens Valley level) for a week, then at 6,000, then 
at 8,000, then at 10,000 for a few days each. That obviates 
all altitude difficulty. Twice we have allowed some one to 
come up from Owens Valley from Taboose in one day, and 
in both cases bad indigestion with fever of 102° followed, 






276 GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 

with a week’s indisposition. Nose-bleed once on the first 
high climb. One girl changed in temper and character gen¬ 
erally with altitude: intelligent, delightful, merry until 
about 10,000. Then headache came on. After that we 
stayed up at 11,000 or over for several weeks. She grew 
difficult in temper and very stupid, inclined to shirk, mu¬ 
tinous. On one day climbed to 14,000, caught in an electric 
storm, seemed normal enough at night, but next day for 
several hours was entirely off* her head. On later days could 
not see things at a distance visible to every one else. Was 
unable to do any mental work well. Improvement began 
with decrease in altitude. She did not get the fine ruddy 
color the others always got. Our theory was that her blood 
failed to produce enough red corpuscles to meet the extra 
demand for oxygen, and that brain and nervous system were 
oxygen-starved. It may have been partly homesickness, 
but as she was particularly self-reliant, I doubt that. 

There is always a great exhilaration in first reaching the 
heights, usually accompanied by inordinate appetite. As a 
matter of fact, less food appears to be required than at low 
altitudes, as every one soon learns by observation. 

Temporary ringing of ears and depression of mood often 
accompany descents for 1,000 feet or more; airman’s trick 
of inflating ears useful. Sometimes a rise of 1,000 feet af¬ 
fects one’s sleep somewhat. 

We are always careful not to lift heavy loads or climb fast. 
In climbing a slip is accepted. Violent movements or quick 
scrambles are tiring. 

If short of wind, lie perfectly flat, extend arms above head 
and draw long, slow, deep breaths till the pulse abates. 
Climb slowly and evenly, not pausing to rest. Each start 
requires fresh energy. Come down as fast as you like. 

Sun has never affected any of us badly. We expose our¬ 
selves to it gradually, and get well-pigmented early. After 


CHIEFTAINE RUTH’S "BRAIN” 


277 

that, no unpleasant consequences. A tam is quite protection 
enough unless one must cross a stretch of sunlit snow—then 
goggles. 

The boys in the old outfit stripped daily, and throve amaz¬ 
ingly. Exercise in the sun is much easier stripped than 
clothed. 

Our rule is to dress lightly for a climb, with low shoes, 
leaving ankles free, sleeves rolled up, belts loose, no collar: 
freedom of ankle, waist, wrist, and neck gives coolness and 
freedom of movement. Carry sweater, gloves, scarf in 
knapsack. On reaching top to rest, immediately put them 
on, conserving heat and preventing taking cold. There is 
a curious human tendency, when compelled to start out full 
togged, to continue so. Make them adjust their wraps. 

Wet feet don’t matter, as long as one exercises enough to 
avoid getting chilly. Change into dry stockings and shoes 
on coming in. Don’t ride with wet feet. 

Germs don’t live in this ultra-violet lit atmosphere. Any 
cut, burn, or scratch heals cleanly and quickly. 

Occasionally someone coughs—apparently a nervous cough 
only. 

Cure any small disorder of digestion by a day’s starvation. 
The diet is most successful in general. Disorders are usually 
due to over-eating, insufficient chewing, or eating too fast. 
Correct constipation by exercise and fruit, looseness of bowels 
by rice and hot milk. 

Girls are very foolish in vying with each other. They will 
go beyond their strength and expect praise. Don’t give it. 
Be as severe with over-exertion as with laziness. Pride and 
display are probably the cause of it. Foolhardiness is as 
disgraceful as timidity. Shows lack of imagination, and 
timidity may show an excess of it. 

One full 24-hour day of complete rest, physical and mental, 
for each menstruation period. Lying out of doors in a par- 


278 GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 

ticularly beautiful place, alone, away from camp bustle. 
Mind is not active, body needs relaxation and extra sleep, 
senses are especially receptive. Thus treated, the period 
becomes an asset. 

Make no decisions at night. Morning bringeth counsel:' 
I think partly because a night under the stars adjusts one’s 
sense of values. In the daytime the Earth looms large, 
with my Lord Sun as useful attendant, and one’s self is likely 
to loom large, too. At night the veil is lifted. 

Discourage mechanically busy hands, that the mountain 
influences, waiting about, may get at the girls. An em¬ 
broidery needle might keep off a dryad or a water-nymph. 
A girl wrote: 

“As the lady of old in her mirrored tower 
Watched year on year and hour on hour 
For the filming breath of Fate, 

So, at the loom of my life I stand, 

Idle of heart but busy of hand 
And scarcely aware of it, wait.” 

Mechanically busy hands breed vague dreaming. Sketch¬ 
ing, on the contrary, is invaluable for opening the eyes and 
stopping that vague dreaming. If a girl can’t or won’t 
sketch, try to get her to draw word-pictures. Gretchen de¬ 
veloped famously doing that. 

Punish gum-chewing with death. 

Collections are difficult to manage. Usually a desire to 
collect dies out quickly. Query? Is it better to attempt to 
force carrying it through in the interest of thoroughness, 
or let it die its unlamented death ? See how far the interest 
is real interest and how far it is the mere small-boy pocket 
habit. Look out for labels. The pseudo-scientist claps a 
label on his specimen and is done with it. Sometimes it’s 
mere quantity that attracts. I used to cut out paper-dolls 
as fast as my fingers could move, in the hope of filling a 


CHIEFTAINE RUTH’S “BRAIN” 


279 

wooden box with them before I died. I incline to think a 
collecting tendency should be treated discouragingly: ob¬ 
stacles put in the way. Irene’s passion for cones survived 
such treatment. She worked fast to get time to hunt them. 
She threw away treasures to find a place to pack them. She 
observed them most carefully to make sure she was not 
duplicating. (N.B., to carry a cone, wet it thoroughly till 
it closes, then sew it stoutly in cloth.) 

Discourage tendency to put beds side by side. Gregari¬ 
ousness is partly habit, born of necessity, probably. Here 
one has a chance to cultivate solitude. Select bed-sites 
myself a few nights, putting girls a long way apart. They’ll 
usually like it after a bit. Send them to bed when they’re 
sleepy. Get them up before they are quite awake. Arbitrary 
hours of going to bed and getting up might conduce, I 
should think, to half-awake fringes—“the De’il’s delight.” 

See to it that each girl gets some notion of a river-system. 
I set Bess the task one year of “finding the source of the San 
Joaquin.” Interesting to watch the true conception grow on 
her. “It’s got about a thousand sources,” she reported finally. 
She’ll never perpetuate the “source of the Mississippi” myth. 

As to bathing, camp is a good opportunity to break away 
from mere conventional habit and set minds working. Rose 
was obsessed with a passion for cleanliness: spent hours with 
manicure tools, shuddered over a smudge as though it were 
a moral stain. I set her grubby jobs, let her ablution-kit 
get left behind at one camp, made her learn by heart Shaler’s 
words on soil: 

“'Now and then a poetic spirit, anticipating with the 
imagination, the revelations of science, has spoken of the 
earth as the mother of all, but the greater part of mankind 
look upon the soil as something essentially unclean, or at 
least as a mere disorder of fragmentary things from which 
seeds manage in some occult way to draw sustenance. Any 


280 GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


chance contact with this material fills them with disgust, 
and they regard their repugnance as a sign of culture. It 
is one of the moral functions of science to change this attitude 
of men to the soil which has borne them, to bring them to a 
recognition of the marvel and beauty of the mechanism on 
which the existence of all the living beings of the earth in¬ 
timately depends.” 

Admitted to her that the “dirt” of St. Louis whence she 
hailed was not “earth,” but soot mixed with disease germs, 
and that her dainty precautions there were reasonable. But 
insisted that touching Earth is an invigorating and vital thing, 
not a thing to be despised and avoided. (Old myth of giant 
touching Earth and getting new strength.) 

Bess was so easy-going and lazy, she had to be made to 
wash. Seemed to think “camp” meant a place where one 
could indulge one’s lower instincts. Hated bathing at home. 
Got her to love bathing in secluded sunny spots, in sweet air 
and crystal water among flowers. Made her feel the sweet¬ 
ness of cleanness, not for show but for one’s own inner 
satisfaction. Toward the summer’s end found her washing 
her underwear and hair more frequently. 

She took a boy-like pleasure in being untidy. I let that go. 

The desire for cleanliness was more important. I’m not 
sure myself about tidiness. There’s a great orderliness in 
Nature, in the motions of the spheres, for example—but litter 
of a sort seems to be part of Nature. In civilization the un¬ 
tidy person is inefficient and a nuisance, and yet the ex¬ 
cessively tidy is a horrible creature. Till I get more light 
on that, I can’t take a decided line with the girls. 

I’m doubtful about efficiency itself. A limited amount 
seems necessary to get anything done in time, or in reason ¬ 
able limits of space—but a lot of sweet joie de vivre dies where 
efficiency springs up. Further meditation needed here. 

To return to bathing: washing of hands before cooking or 


CHIEFTAINE RUTH’S “BRAIN” 


281 


eating is a positive command, for sanitary reasons. If I 
find a girl cooking without having washed first, the food goes 
to the donkeys, and we all go without. If I find one eating 
without washing, her own meal is forfeited. The eastern 
custom of pouring water from a ewer over the hands with a 
basin beneath is the best. Each girl carries her soap-case 
in her belt-pocket. Sunlight makes a good towel and saves 
laundry work. Clean faces aren’t important. Clean feet 
we lay more stress on. In towns, looks are what count. 
Here emphasize sweetness of body, letting looks go. 

Don’t let any bring medicines. Come to me when there 
is any need. Regulate bowels by food, exercise, and regu¬ 
larity without hurry at toilet. In any camp, even for only 
one night, insist on both toilet tents being put up, with 
proper pits dug. Keep wall-pockets in these tents for paper 
and matches (in unbreakable box) always filled. 

Don’t allow kodaks. They can be used artistically, but 
are generally a substitute for seeing. They create a me¬ 
chanical, artificial atmosphere. One sketch, inadequate 
though it may be, is more valuable to the girl than an album 
of snapshots. “There be those who, with eyes of great 
showing, walk abroad in staring blindness.” 

Because of our many high dry camps, washing day can¬ 
not come very often. Girls, who have never done their own 
laundry work, especially need to do it. With a fire by a lake 
or stream, canvas tubs to tramp the clothes out in, barefoot, 
great smooth rocks to rub them on, it is easy to make a little 
festival out of it. We never pollute a stream or lake by using 
it as a tub for our bodies or garments. They like to read 
the story of Nausicaa from the Odyssey, on wash-days. 

I hate prizes. If we can’t get on without promise of re¬ 
ward, or without competition, I’d rather chuck the whole 
show. For one short summer let the girls be in a place where 
there are no “marks.” 


282 GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


The first month goes in organizing. By the end of the 
second month they have pretty well forgotten there is any 
outside world. Midsummer mail rather emphasizes our 
remoteness. At first they arrive as school-girls, all largely 
standardized, no matter what part of the country they come 
from. Here they individualize quickly. Then at a later 
stage they become associated in a new little social group. 
Must take careful notes on this. 

Books are secondary things out here: useful for reference, 
occasionally for inspiration. We never need pastimes. 
Time passes all too quickly. I’m inclined to think games 
only grow up where work gets turned into drudgery. I sup¬ 
pose our whole summer is one great glorious Play in one sense 
of that word. Anyhow, Eve yet to see any girl want games 
of any sort out here. 

Remember: color is important. Girls get it at home in 
clothes. Our sober little beasts and the general old-cam¬ 
paigner aspect of our packs call for color: hence scarlet har¬ 
ness and saddle-bags and gay numdas and blankets. A 
scarlet Hudson Bay blanket spread on the rocks to sun all 
day keeps the whole camp warm o’ heart. 

I must learn to play a flageolet this winter. No other 
instrument fits in the picture, save only pipes. Bess’s 
piping last summer was a constant delight, as Santa Clara’s 
singing has been this. Music is a necessity, not a luxury. 
Why are all girls taught to play a huge instrument that can’t 
be carried about? 

Must find out what the red snow is: looks like a lichen on 
the snow under the ten-power glass. My character will go 
to pot if I let another winter pass without finding that out. 
If I live out-of-doors half the year, I must know such things. 
Mere emotional enjoyment is all right for a casual vacation¬ 
ist, but mountain-dwellers must use their minds. 


APPENDIX B 


EVOLUTIONARY SKETCH OF THREE-CORNER ROUND 
COOKING 

The Three-Corner Round nucleus was formed in January, 
1919—the Sahib, the Quarter-Mistress, and five burros: 
Tom, Pat, Bird, Nigger, and Shrimp. The Sahib at first 
did all the cooking, gradually teaching the Quarter-Mistress 
the ways of camp-fires. 

In July arrived the First Boy, and the donkeys became a 
dozen. 

In September the first real expedition was organized, with 
three boys, an assistant packer, a cook, a teacher, and thirty- 
one burros. Hired cooks proving productive of hunger 
rather than of food, good old Joe Healy came to the rescue, 
cooking for love, not for money. Joe was a Dutch oven 
artist. We lived well under his regime, and when he ‘‘hit 
the trail,” we vowed we would never again be subject to 
hireling cooking. From that day to this we have done our 
own. Jim’s soup, Ray’s bacon, Alice’s cookies, Bill’s pota- 
toes-and-onions of that first year live forever in our memory. 

The expedition of 1920 saw us equipped with Dutches, 
besides the hitherto little-used fireless cookers, which latter 
we had taken in order to keep bread in critical rising stages 
at even temperatures. That year the Dutch gave way 
slowly to the fireless. The Dutch requires a wood-chopper, 
a stoker, and a blast-furnaceman as well as a baker to operate 
it—to say nothing of a forest wood supply. The tireless 

283 


284 GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 

can be handled, unassisted, by women and children. The 
slow, fireless baking produces bread more crusty and tooth¬ 
some than the more dramatic Dutch’s best. The vanquished 
Dutches were abandoned high on a great rock in the Le 
Conte Basin. The fireless, re-enforced by the steam pres¬ 
sure, we will never be without. But a glamour yet lingers 
about the Dutches, and as all our boys ought to know how 
to use them, I pause here to give a few hints: 

The Dutch is a heavy flat-bottomed cast-iron pot with 
three legs, and a cover, with a raised rim, to hold coals. It 
should be greased well inside for baking, and at the latter 
st. ge of cooking more heat should be applied on top than 
belo.f. You need iron hooks to lift cover from time to time 
to know what is going on within, in order to regulate the 
heat. It takes two irons to prevent live coals spilling into 
the pots. In replacing the cover, you must be careful to 
twist it till you get a tight joint. Bread, meat, potatoes, 
fruit, beans—practically everything can be deliciously cooked 
in the Dutch. We have used a light sheet-iron substitute 
successfully, but it is much harder to get results. We have 
had rather unsatisfactory experience with reflector bakers. 

Our experience has gone to show that by nature all boys 
are good cooks. Succeeding years have confirmed this con¬ 
clusion. Given proper ingredients, all out-of-doors, and 
time enough , any boy can cook anything, and make it de¬ 
licious. 

In 1920 there was no cook-book. Charley and Harlan 
invented Fruit Flop-Overs and deduced Cinnamon Rolls. 
Odo created delicacies and substantial. 

By 1921 we had laid in a stock of cook-books. The 
Quarter-Mistress, taught hitherto by her all-wise Sahib, 
became suddenly inspired by Elmer’s desire to learn Cooking 
and nothing but Cooking. Notes were made of our suc¬ 
cesses. 


THREE-CORNER ROUND COOKING 285 

In 1922 “our own” cook-book had developed to an au¬ 
thority, having a kind of odor of sanctity about it, emphasized 
by splashes of eggs, smears of butter, chocolate stains, and 
marks of smutty fingers. Now its barely legible pages are 
here transcribed, unharmonized as to language, the recipes 
following roughly the order of the camps where they were 
first successes. They were gleaned from Kephart, Miss 
Farmer, the Toledo Fireless cook-book, the Sechrist and 
National Pressure cook-books, the Oriental cook-book, and 
our own imaginations, adapted at many points to meet our 
special conditions. 

We used no canned goods. Our cooking milk was klim. 
(Goat’s milk was too precious for cooking.) Our only flour 
was whole wheat: the incomparable Franklin Mills 
for bread, a less expensive California brand for cakes and 
minor stuff. We used brown sugar, or maple, or honey for 
sweetening. Our dried fruits were all unsulphured. Our 
rice was Carque’s “natural.” Our eggs were not dried. 
Our cheese was a fresh skim-milk variety. The spices we 
liked best are J. P. Smith’s. For vitamines we depended 
on milk, butter, eggs, onions, unpolished rice, whole wheat, 
oranges, and comb honey. 

Most of our cooking was done at very high altitudes: 
above eleven thousand feet. None of it was done below four 
thousand. The quantities in the recipes are for nine people 
with appetites. 


GENERAL RULES 

1. Cook must thoroughly wash his hands before begin¬ 
ning to operate. Else the product is fed to the donkeys. 

2. Cook may lick his own dish (or his fingers) or delegate 
the privilege. 

3. All cooking dishes must be washed by the cook. 


286 GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


EFFICIENCY HINTS 

The ideal fire is either a bright flame or intense coals. 
Smoky fires mean inefficient builders or tenders. 

Heating cook-stones may take all day, or can be done in 
short order. Concentrated mental energy is quite as neces¬ 
sary for the latter accomplishment as wood fuel. 

A recipe should be studied before the making of the dish 
begins: all ingredients gathered, to prevent last-minute 
searches and many trips; preliminary processes should pre¬ 
cede rather than follow final stages. 

Cooking dishes should not be allowed to accumulate. 
A bread-mixing pan is readily cleaned at a certain moment 
and frightfully resistant if postponed. Good cooks, who 
co-ordinate and get several dishes ready at stated intervals, 
must use odd minutes and not “get behind.” 

All this is put in, just to sound natural to you all—with 
no real hope that you have yet exchanged your precious sense 
of eternity for a sense of time, or the glacial rate of move¬ 
ment with which Nature endows boys for the rapid transit 
pace of men. 

EGG NOGG 

Beat egg till it will not stay on the fork when you lift it 
out. Add milk to fill cup, and two teaspoonfuls of sugar, 
with sprinkling of spice. 

FRUIT NOTES 

Indian Joe’s apples, with a few raisins, a few prunes, and 
cinnamon. Apple sauce with lemon or ginger. Apricots 
with peaches and honey. Spices galore. Chop up fruits 
to mix juices. Taste frequently while spicing. If you are 
not using the pressure, dried fruit must be soaked a long 
while in cold water, and then simmered rather than boiled. 


THREE-CORNER ROUND COOKING 287 


BREAD 

Sponge: At sunrise: 3 packages (15 cakes) of dry yeast, 
dissolved in 5 cups of tepid water, with 2 large spoonfuls of 
sugar, and 3 cups of Franklin Mills Fine Flour of the entire 
wheat. (If set the night before, even if not kept warm, we 
always found the sponge ready to use at sunrise.) 

Soak: 3 cups oatmeal and 1 cup seedless raisins. 

Mix: When sponge is bubbling bravely, divide it into 
three parts, adding each to 6 cups of flour with 3 tablespoon¬ 
fuls of salt. Divide the oatmeal evenly among the three 
loaves, and put the raisins into one. Mix thoroughly, 
rather wetly. 

Let Rise: To double its bulk. Cover to prevent a crust 
forming. Mount guard to keep goats from tasting or 
stepping into dough at this stage. 

Knead: Long and vigorously, singing the while. 

Let Rise: Again, in buttered pots this time. Sometimes 
this rising may be done safely in the sun, but usually it is 
best, after kneading, to place pots directly into cooker, with 
two stones heated to 600 underneath. When loaf is risen to 
double its bulk, add top stone, also 600. 

Bake: 5 or 6 hours. 

SOUP NOTES 

Basis: Meat bones or Knorr’s pea soup. 

Seasonings: S. F. uses a ballad refrain of “marjoram, sage, 
and thyme,” re-enforced in ’22 by chili powder. L. T. once 
used those three with paprika, red and black pepper, pickling 
spice, mace, cloves and salt, successfully. J. C. adds curry. 
Q. M. once put in a half-bottle of tomato ketchup and served 
hot milk with it. Left-oveus of oatmeal, bean-water, corn- 
water, or onions are acceptable. 

Concomitants: Rice or noodles. 


288 GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


Warnings: Soup gets more peppery toward the bottom, 
and the longer it stands. And pepper is hard to take out. 

Rice should be added late, else starch results instead of 
soup. 

Dumplings are too precarious to try. 

SUDELI YUTMOURA 

Into cold mess-pan pour \ cup of cold milk. Add two 
slightly beaten eggs, | cup sugar, a sliced orange, and pepper 
and salt. Cook over slow fire till egg “sets.” Only one 
person, so far, has failed to like it. 

GOLDEN PUDDING 

(Devised to trick Stu into a liking for bread pudding.) 
3 cups of bread crumbs; 4 cups of hot milk; 2 beaten eggs; § 
cup sugar; 1 tablespoonful of butter; raisins, figs, dates, salt, 
cinnamon, cloves, nutmeg in profusion; juice and peel of 
one orange. Boil all these till they become somewhat 
homogeneous. Arrange slices of orange on top and spread 
a little butter and cinnamon on the top for a final flourish. 
Bake for an hour with two stones at 400. 

LIMA BEANS 

Soak over night, though this is not necessary with that 
magical pressure. Cook in pressure 40 minutes at 20 lb. 
Add butter, salt, pepper. Dip out “goo” to save for use in 
soup. Fry beans till crisp in individual mess-pans. Even 
Pat liked them (once) when thus prepared. 

SAUCE FOR CRUSTY PUDDING 

Thin orange marmalade with hot water. Add lemon juice. 

FRIED DATES 

Fry dates slightly in olive oil or butter. They burn 
very easily. This is a favorite Arab dish. 



THREE-CORNER ROUND COOKING 289 


LENTIL CHOWDER 

I cup of lentils and 1 cup sliced onions soaked over night. 
Cook in pressure with 1 cup of hardtack crumbs soaked in 2 
cups of hot milk. Add butter, savory, sage, curry. 

LEFT-OVER NOTES 

Fry cold rice with apricots. Eat with orange jelly. 

Fry cold rice with cheese. Eat with a fried egg on top. 
Boil old bread crusts in milk, with butter, salt, and pepper. 
Left-over pancakes are good next day if baked and eaten 
hot. 


SOFT-SUGAR GINGERBREAD 

Beat 2 eggs till light. Add gradually 1 cup sugar. Mix 
if cups of flour, 3 teaspoonfuls of baking-powder, | teaspoon¬ 
ful of salt, i| teaspoonfuls of ginger. Mix these and add 
alternately with two thirds of a cup of milk (and a mite of 
butter) to the eggs and sugar. Bake in buttered tins 30 
minutes with two stones at 400. 

SCHASLICK 

Cut tender bits of mutton or venison about an inch square 
and \ inch thick. Cut similar pieces of fat or bacon. Skewer 
alternately meat and fat on long peeled sticks, about a 
dozen pieces on a stick. Season. Broil over very hot coals, 
continuously turning to keep juices in. 

BAKED BEANS 

2 cups navy or pea beans and J cup lentils. Preferably 
soak over night. Parboil with pinch of soda. Drain. 
Cover with water in pressure, adding cubes of bacon (quite 
a lot) and a mixture of everything tasty you can think of, 
salt, mustard, sugar, curry, ginger, onion. After an hour’s 


290 GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 

cooking at 20 pounds, the beans are thoroughly cooked and 
ready to be browned in oven. Even after that we fry them 
crisp in individual mess-pans before eating. And no one 
has yet been able to cloak the beany flavorlessness and un¬ 
pleasant texture sufficiently to make the Sahib like them. 

CHOCOLATE FROSTING 

(Deduced by Dave and Q. M.) Melt Baker’s Dot Sweet 
Chocolate. Thin with hot milk. Spread on cake filling 
up irregularities of surface. Let harden. It sometimes 
gets too hard like the original chocolate, but there is a 
perfect stage. 

MACARONI (or RICE) WITH CHEESE 

6 cups of macaroni, broken into small bits, added to a 
gallon of boiling salted water. When soft, drain, and place 
in buttered pans, alternating with layers of diced cheese. 
Pour 1J cupfuls of hot klim over each dish, and add a little 
butter. Bake one hour, with two stones at 520. Rice may 
be treated similarly. 

PUNCH 

Oranges, grape-juice, lemons, vichy, spices, especially 
ginger, and no water. Appreciated at a forced dry camp. 

BANNOCK 

4 cups of flour; 8 teaspoonfuls of baking-powder, 1 tea¬ 
spoonful of salt; 1 teaspoonful of sugar; small amount of 
water. Knead hard. Roll flat into sheets finger-thick. 
Press two strips of bacon into bottom of bannock, and put 
into frying-pan, bacon side down. Hold over fire till stiff. 
Then stand up steeply beside fire to brown top. When stiff 
enough to stand by itself, let it do so, freeing the pan to 
make another. Give them plenty of time to bake through. 


THREE-CORNER ROUND COOKING 291 


BACON NOTES 

Slice paper thin. Parboil before frying. Broiling is a 
pleasant change, and so is dipping in flour before frying. 
Boil a whole side of bacon at a time. Boiled bacon, fried, 
is good. 

CHIPATTIS 

Build a stone back to fire-place or use a back-log about a 
foot high, and as wide as four aluminium plates. Build a 
good fire of hardwood. Have four stones in row in front of 
fire, at proper distance to lean plates against. Mix salt in 
flour in top of flour-sack. Make a hollow in the middle. 
Pour in a little water. Mix the flour into a stiff dough. 
Keep on pouring in water, a little at a time, till you get a 
lump of dough as big as you want it. Spread a little flour 
on a tarpaulin. Place dough on this. Take out of flour-sack 
any little shreds of dough that may have peeled off the 
main lump. Knead hard for a full half hour. Take a 
piece of kneaded dough and roll or pat it very thin. Make 
it the circumference of an aluminium plate. If dough is too 
dry to stick to plate, stick it with a half-drop of water in 
one place. Set it up against one of the stones facing the fire. 
Fill four plates in the same way. By the time the fourth 
plate is ready, the first chipatti will be baked brown and 
stiff on one side. Pick the plate up with a gloved hand, 
loosen chipatti with cake turner, turn it over, stand it up 
against the plate or stone, without sticking this time. You 
will find they bake so fast that two people can be kept busy, 
one shaping them and one baking them. They are really 
good and keep any number of days, still as good as when 
fresh. In India they make the same thing, using a hori¬ 
zontal piece of sheet iron without grease over the fire. 


292 


GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


ANOTHER KIND OF “ONE-ELEVEN” BREAD 

Build hot fire. Throw into it 6 smooth stones (not gran¬ 
ite) that won’t split with heat, more or less spherical in 
shape, four or five inches in diameter. Mix dough as for 
chipattis. Knead a half hour hard. Roll or pat out into 
sheets, finger-thick, each big enough to wrap completely 
around one of the heating stones. Wrap dough around 
stone, pinching together tightly. Set it in front of fire, 
near enough to brown outside. Keep turning as it browns. 
When well done on the outside, it will be cooked all through, 
as the inner stone has been cooking it, too, from within. 
Very palatable, and good for several days. We associate 
this with Abyssinia and also with the Six Inch Outfit in the 
San Jacinto Mountains. 


WILD NOTES 

Wild onions are good in soup. 

Miner’s lettuce is good in soup, or straight in salad, or 
boiled in salted water. 

Mint and mustard are both edible. 

Gooseberries, elderberries, blueberries, all make good 
drinks boiled down with sugar. 

FIG OAT-CAKES 

i cup oatmeal soaked fourhours; 2 cups flour; 2 tablespoon¬ 
fuls of baking-powder; 2 teaspoonfuls of salt; 1 cup of chopped 
figs. Water to make batter. Fry like ordinary pancakes. 

TROUT 

Catch! Kill. Clean. Wipe. Cut backbone in two or 
three places, so it will not curl up. Fry in very hot olive oil, 
sprinkling slightly with pepper and salt as color turns. 


THREE-CORNER ROUND COOKING 293 

Don’t over-cook. Golden trout are so delicate that it is a 
crime to cloak them in meal. 

ONIONS 

Fried or boiled or in soup. 

With White Sauce, see p. 296. 

Indian Joe ate them raw. 

MRS. sharp’s PIE CRUST 

Mix 3 cups of flour with a teaspoonful of baking-powder 
and \ teaspoonful of salt. Stir into boiling water to which 
has been added J cup of olive oil. Roll out. Bake an 
hour with two stones at 400. 

(Notice to brides: Perhaps you had better let Himself 
make this, or send for Mrs. Sharp. Q. M. got a strange 
article when she tried it!) 

CURRY SALAD DRESSING 

Mix in order: f teaspoonful of salt; | teaspoonful of curry 
powder; } teaspoonful of pepper; 5 tablespoonfuls olive oil; 
3 tablespoonfuls vinegar. 

SALTED ALMONDS 

Blanch almonds. Heat \ cup olive oil (or half lard and 
clarified butter). Put in almonds, stirring all the time. 
Fry until brown. Remove almonds, spread on brown paper, 
and sprinkle with salt. 


RIPSNORTERS 

Thin bread dough with water to proper batter consistency. 
Fry (as we do all griddle cakes) on iron discs. No “colic” 
consequences. 


294 


GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


OATMEAL 

Steel-cut oatmeal, not soaked, may be cooked thoroughly 
in a short time in the pressure. Stir it gradually with a 
wooden spoon into boiling salted water. Fasten cover 
down and cook for 25 minutes at 20 pounds. 

DOUGHNUTS 

Make batter of 4 cups of flour, 1 teaspoonful of salt, if 
tablespoonfuls of baking-powder, 2 cups of sugar, a good 
supply of nutmeg, 4 tablespoonfuls of klim, 4 beaten eggs, 
and water. Beat thoroughly, and add flour to make dough 
of the consistency you remember seeing it when your mother 
makes doughnuts. Roll. Cut. Shape. Fry in deep olive 
oil, very hot. Drain on paper. 

CURRY RISOTTO 

Put into a pot as much butter as you can spare, say one- 
sixth of a pound. Boil. Add one cup of rice (previously 
well washed, and soaked for an hour). Stir to keep from 
burning, for several minutes. Add 1 cup of soaked seedless 
raisins, 3 cups of boiling salted water, and a little curry. 
Stir curry all through. Cook with two stones at 650, for 
20 minutes, or till done dry. Test at 15 minutes. 

HARD SAUCE 

2! tablespoonfuls of butter and if cups of sugar, creamed, 
with lemon juice and nutmeg. 

THREE-CORNER ROUND CAKE 

I cup of sugar creamed with f cup of butter; 2 eggs; 1 cup 
of cooked fruit (if acid, add a teaspoonful of soda); if cups of 
flour, with 2 teaspoonfuls of baking-powder; 2 teaspoonfuls 
each of cinnamon and cloves; 1 cup of nut meats if con- 


THREE-CORNER ROUND COOKING 295 

venient. Bake 2 hours with two stones at 450. Delicate 
things like cake should not be baked close to the stones. 
A wide rack above and one below give plenty of room for 
rising and prevent burning. 

GOULASH 

Cut cold lamb into cubes. Salt them and sprinkle with 
flour. Put a tablespoonful of grease into each mess-pan 
and an onion sliced fine. When onion is cooked, add lamb. 
Season with paprika. Cover and bake. 

CORN-MEAL MUSH 

2| cups of corn meal stirred slowly with wooden spoon 
into a gallon of boiling salted water in pressure. Add raisins 
or small cubes of bacon. Cook, with cover on, and pressure 
at 20 pounds, for 45 minutes. Cool 1 till it is firm. Then 
slice thin and fry. 

CUSTARD 

Into one pint of lukewarm milk put a little salt and nut¬ 
meg. Beat 6 eggs with \ cup sugar. Combine milk and 
sugar gradually, still beating. Cook slowly with only one 
stone, below, at about 450, for two hours. Dates can be 
used interestingly, in place of the sugar. 

COLIC 

3 cups of flour; i§ tablespoonfuls baking-powder; 1 tea¬ 
spoonful of salt; i cup of sugar; 2 cups of milk; 1 egg; 2 
tablespoonfuls melted butter. Mix dry. Beat egg. Add 
milk, and pour slowly on mixture. Beat and add butter. 
Fry as usual. Delectable but deadly. 

KEPHART CREAMED BEEF 

Shave a cupful of dried beef. Pour boiling water over. 
Drain. Heat tablespoonful of butter in mess-pan gradually, 


296 GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 

very hot. Put beef in, and stir for two minutes. Mix 
cup of klim, i teaspoonful of flour, pinch of salt, and an egg. 
Pour mixture over beef. Cover and cook for three minutes. 

WHITE SAUCE FOR ONIONS, ETC. 

A tablespoonful of butter in mess-pan. When bubbling, 
put in a little flour mixed with pepper and salt. Then pour 
in slowly a cup of hot milk. 

EGG FLUFF 

Mix J cup of klim and 2 eggs in a cup. Heat tablespoonful 
of butter in a mess-pan to bubbling. Slip in mixture. As 
it sets, keep scraping bottom and sides of pan. When fully 
fluffed, add salt and paprika, and eat straightway. Fried 
onions are good to add. The whole operation must be per¬ 
formed quickly. Sometimes the thing curdles, for reasons 
we have not yet discerned. 


COCOA 

j 

This is a highly contentious dish. It has never been 
made really well yet in any of our camps. It is our belief 
at present that it may be successful if the method of mix¬ 
ing the ingredients is copied from the recipe below. The 
amounts most nearly satisfactory so far appear to be: 
For 24 cups: 24 cups of water, \ pound can of Baker’s cocoa 
and a little larger amount of sugar (maple being particularly 
good), 3 cups of klim, and a pinch of salt. 

CHOCOLATE MALTED MILK 

To make 24 cups: Put 24 cups of water on to boil. Mix 
2J cups of malted milk (if you have so much) with a can of 
Baker’s cocoa, dry. Add a teaspoonful of salt. Mix 2 
cups of sugar with the dry milk and cocoa thoroughly, and 
then add just enough boiling water to make a thick paste. 


THREE-CORNER ROUND COOKING 297 

beating it until smooth. Stir the paste steadily and rapidly 
into the boiling water. Immerse the mixing dish repeatedly 
to get all the paste out of it, and into the water. Boil ten 
minutes. 


HAM 

Wash. Cover with cold water in pressure. Cook ij 
hours at 15 lbs. Skin. Brush with brown sugar, and stick 
in whole cloves. Bake in fireless with two stones at 550 
for one hour. 

APRICOT RUFF 

Line dish with slightly sweetened apricots, previously 
cooked under pressure till soft, after pouring off juice, then 
cover with following custard mixture: 

Melt 3 tablespoons butter, add f cup flour, then, gradually, 
hot milk. Bring to a boil, then pouronto the yolks of 4 eggs 
beaten until thick and already mixed with J cup sugar and J 
teaspoon salt. Cool. Then cut and fold in the whites of 4 
eggs beaten stiff*. After pouring over apricot fruit bake 35 
to 40 minutes in oven. 

RICE 

Put 3 cups of water into bottom of pressure. 1 cup of 
washed and soaked Carque natural rice with 1 cup of salted 
water in each inset. Cook with "pressure at 20 for ten 
minutes. This cooks the rice dry as all folk who use rice 
habitually cook it. The recipes accompanying the pressures 
give a goo-ey mess. 


INDEX TO COOK BOOK 


Almonds, Salted .... 293 

Apricot Ruff.297 

Bacon.291 

Bannock.290 

Beans.289 

Beef.295 

Bread.287 

Cake ..294 

Chipattis.291 

Chocolate Malted Milk . . 296 

Cocoa.296 

Colic.295 

Corn-meal Mush .... 295 

Curry Risotto.295 

Curry Salad Dressing . . . 293 

Custard.295 

Dates.288 

Doughnuts.294 

Eggs: Fluff.296 

Nogg.286 

Sudeli Yutmoura . . 288 

Frosting.290 

Fruit Notes.286 

Gingerbread.289 

Golden Pudding .... 288 

Goulash.295 


Griddle Cakes.293 


Ham.297 

Hard Sauce.294 

Left-over Notes.289 

Lentils.289 

Lima Beans.288 

Macaroni.290 

Mush.295 

Oat Cakes.292 

Oatmeal.294 

One-Eleven Bread .... 292 

Onions.293 

Pie-crust.293 

Pudding, Golden .... 288 

Punch.290 

Rice.297 

Ripsnorters.293 

Risotto.294 

Salad Dressing.293 

Sauce: Crusty.288 

Hard.294 

White.296 

Schaslik.289 

Soup Notes.287 

Sudeli Yutmoura .... 288 

Three-Corner Round Cake . 294 

Trout.292 

Wild Notes.292 


298 





































APPENDIX C 


OUR BROTHER THE ASS 


Kesar’s Kyang 


Done out of the Tibetan into German by A. H. Francke 
of the Moravian Mission of Ladak. Put into English by 
K. E. B. 


Now while Kesar the king lay asleep came his heavenly 
aunt Ane Kur Manmo and troubled his dreams, saying: “Get 
thee up and fight the fiend Curulugu, for this year the signs 
are auspicious.” Now when Brugma the crystal queen 
consort heard of her lord’s departing she put all the maids in 
a bustle. Food they heaped like snow on the mountains. 
Drink as deep as Lake Maphang. Yak flesh and flesh of 
fat she-yak aplenty—goat flesh, tender and melting, and a 
fine young sheep well nourished. 

And sweet lamenting songs she sang him. A month long 
he tarried by her. Then in his dreams came Ane Kur 
Manmo. He awoke in the gray of the dawntide, restless 


299 





3 oo GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 

and troubled, and sought his wild ass in the marigold garden. 

He saddled and bridled him, and put on the saddle a grass 
mat, woven, which Ane Kur Manmo had given him. Then 
came Queen Brugma with all her maidens, and all the 
neighboring maidens— 

Burning incense of cedar twigs came they, and bearing 
beer-jugs decked with flowers of butter. 

Half the day Brugma followed her lord, then turning 
homewards half the day Kesar followed Brugma. The 
sun was low when a dzomo, sharp of horn, jostled rudely the 
foal Kyang god dyerpa. Then waxed Kesar wroth. An 
arrow he shot: a quiver of arrows, but none touched the 
dzomo. And Kur Manmo—came to hasten her parting. 

Upon a pass they slept that night, man and beast amid 
great terrors: wolves howling, foxes wailing, and round dung 
dancing. 

No food had King Kesar, save a nutshell of meal and a 
nutshell of beer, the which Ane Kur Manmo gave him. In 
his hunger he looked with scorn on these small things and 
slept, eating nothing. 

All night long “tschurum tschurum” went the ass, munch¬ 
ing his straw. When the dawn came, Kesar lifted his head 
and saw the ass, fat and peaceful, the grass mat as if not 
eaten, and much dung, wet and heavy. 

“Who knoweth?” quoth Kesar. “Mayhap will the nut¬ 
shells nourish me likewise after this fashion.” And ate and 
drank, and most toothsome found the food and refreshing 
the liquor. 

Now when they came to Curulugu’s castle, Kesar slew 
that king of the demons, and thereafter loitered, enticed by 
Curulugu’s fiend wife for three full years, pitching of quoits 
and shooting arrows. 

There came on a day a pigeon flying from Kesar’s home¬ 
land, bearing news of enemies and dangers. Now was 


KESAR’S KYANG 301 

Kesar affrighted, and aroused him, and sought his Kyang 
god dyerpa. 

Three mountains high he sought him, and three valleys 
low, ere he found him by the edge of a glacier, standing, 
piteous thin, with sore wounds, so that Kesar wept to see him. 

Then came the Kyang to his master, and spoke, saying: 

“Ah forgetful King Kesar 

Once dwelt I at home with Brugma. 

For breakfast gave she meal and butter 

For supper gave she cake and sugar. 

When she went up she kissed my long ears. 

When she went down she stroked my muzzle, 

Saying always, ‘Ass, my ass, too thin thou art.’ 

Three years at the friend’s door stood I. 

For breakfast gave she wood, wood only. 

For supper gave she sand, sand only. 

When she went up, she kicked me soundly. 

When she went down, a blow she struck me. 

Saying always: ‘Ass, thou ass, thou art much too fat!’ 

Then wept I, Kyang, thy wild ass.” 

And Kesar made answer: “’tis true. Me, too, hath the fiend 
queen cozened. Now homeward go we; but alas! thy poor 
back! ” Then said the ass: “In my right ear is good medicine 
hidden. My mother Brugma put it there. In my left ear 
a lancet lieth. Now wash me, Master, in milk and nectar. 
Cut with the knife and give me the lotion.” Even so did 
Kesar, and the ass became more full of fire than ever. 

Now yet remained one sorrow. The fiend queen would 
follow Kesar. But Kyang the ass gave counsel: “Let her 
sit behind thee on my back, trust to me. Kesar did as the 
shrewd ass counselled. When they were come into the midst 
of a wide river, Kyang lifted his rear part and heaved the 
woman back to the bank that they had come from. So 
was Kesar the king free of hindrance. 


GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


302 

From the Encyclopaedia Britannica—Ninth Edition. 

Ass, The Domestic —asinus vulgaris , Gray—differs chiefly 
from the horse in its smaller size, in the presence of long 
hair, forming a tuft, only at the extremity of the tail, and 
in the absence of warts on its hind legs. Its fur, usually of 
a gray color, is characteristically marked with a longitudinal 
dorsal streak of a darker hue, with a similar streak across 
the shoulders, but white and black varieties also occur. 
The ass has been from time immemorial under the dominion 
of man, and it is doubtful whether the original wild stock 
is anywhere to be found at the present day,—the specimens 
that have been described as wild being probably the de¬ 
scendants of individuals that have escaped from the domestic 
state. A wild variety of ass {Asinus taeniopus), found in 
Abyssinia, has the long acute ears and the bray peculiar to 
the domestic kinds. It is said also to have cross bands on 
its legs, a feature occasionally met with in our tame breeds; 
and this fact has led Darwin and others to conclude that in 
the wild ass of Abyssinia the original of the domestic animal 
is to be found; the stripes which occasionally appear on the 
legs of the latter being regarded as instances of reversion 
to the ancestral type {Proceedings of Zool. Society , 1862). 
The marked aversion of the domestic ass to cross the smallest 
streamlet, an aversion which it shares with the camel, and 
the evident delight with which it rolls itself in the dust, seem 
to point to arid deserts as its original home. The ass has 
generally been the object of neglect and ill treatment; and 
attempts have seldom been made to improve the breed by 
selecting and matching the finer specimens. It has thus 
gradually sunk into the dull and obstinate creature which we 
are accustomed to see. Its reputation for stupidity is not, 
however, of recent origin. The ancient Egyptians hated 
it, and symbolized an ignorant person by the head and ears, 
and the Romans thought it a bad omen to meet an ass 


ENCYCLOPEDIA BRITANNICA 303 

(Fosbrooke s Antiquities). In the Middle Ages the Germans 
of Westphalia made the ass the symbol of St. Thomas, the 
unbelieving apostle; and the boy who was last to enter the 
school on St. Thomas’ day was called the “Ass Thomas” 
(Gubernatis’s Zoological Mythology , vol. i.,p. 362). That the 
ass possesses qualities, which, if developed by careful se¬ 
lection and humane treatment, would make it a worthy com¬ 
panion of the horse as the servant of man, is seen in the too 
rare instances in which it has received proper attention. In 
Southern Europe—especially in Spain, Italy, and Malta— 
the ass is carefully bred, and has thus been greatly improved. 
No less than £200, it is said, is sometimes paid in Spain for 
a stallion ass. In the state of Kentucky, where mules are 
in great request as beasts of burden, asses, imported from the 
south of Europe, are reared with scrupulous care, and with 
such success, that from an average height of fourteen hands 
the Kentuckians have raised these animals to fifteen and 
even sixteen hands. That the diminutive size of the ass in 
cold countries is due as much to neglect as to rigor of cli¬ 
mate seems proved by the fact, that in the north of India, 
where it is used by the lowest castes, the ass does not attain 
a height greater than that of a Newfoundland dog. It is, 
however, among the southwestern nations of Asia and in 
Egypt that the ass has received that attention usually be¬ 
stowed in this country on the horse, and it is there that it is 
to be seen in greatest perfection. The Arabs and Persians 
know the pedigrees of their asses, and by careful selection 
and interbreeding they have formed and perpetuate many 
useful races. Thus in Syria, according to Darwin, there are 
four distinct breeds:—“a light and graceful animal with 
agreeable gait used by ladies, an Arab breed reserved ex¬ 
clusively for the saddle, a stouter animal used for plowing 
and various purposes, and the large Damascus breed with pe¬ 
culiarly long body and ears.” 


304 GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 

The ass, there is little doubt, was first domesticated in 
Asia,—probably prior to the domestication of the horse,— 
whence it passed at a comparatively late period into Europe, 
for in the time of Aristotle it was not found in Thrace. In 
England there is evidence of its presence so early as the time 
of the Saxon Ethelred, but it does not appear to have been 
common till after the time of Queen Elizabeth. The koulan, 
or wild ass {Asinus Onager , Gray), differs from the domestic 
species in its shorter and more rounded ears, and in the 
greater length and finer form of its limbs. Its fur shows 
the dark streak along the back, but the streak across the 
shoulders does not appear to be a constant character. It is 
chiefly to be met with in the plains of Mesopotamia, in Per¬ 
sia, in Cutch, on the shores of the Indus, and in the Panjab, 
congregating in herds under a leader, and migrating south¬ 
wards on the approach of winter. The adults are exceedingly 
shy, so that it is difficult to get within rifle range of them. 
According to Layard, who had ample opportunity for ob¬ 
serving them during his researches around Nineveh, ‘They 
equal the gazelle in fleetness, and to match them is a feat 
which only one or two of the most celebrated mares have 
been known to accomplish.” In the same region, over 
2,000 years ago, Xenophon, during the famous expedition of 
Cyrus, observed herds of wild asses so “fleet that the horse¬ 
men could only take them by dividing themselves into re¬ 
lays, and succeeding one another in the chase.” The young 
are sometimes caught during spring by the Arabs, who feed 
them with milk in their tents. They are hunted chiefly 
by the Arabs and Persians, by whom their flesh is esteemed 
a delicacy. Their food, according to Dr. Shaw, consists 
mainly of saline or bitter and lactescent plants; they are 
also fond of salt or brackish water. The leather known as 
shagreen, from the Turkish term sagri , is made from the 
skin of the ass; the ingrained aspect which it bears is not, 


LIFE OF MAHOMET 


305 

however, natural to it, but is produced by a chemical proc¬ 
ess described by Pallas. The milk of the ass, containing 
more sugar and less caseine than that of the cow, closely 
resembles woman’s milk, and has long been valued as a 
nutritious diet where the digestive organs are weak. 

Life of Mahomet, by Washington Irving. 

Among the Arab princes who professed the Christian faith, 
and refused to pay homage to Mahomet, was Oka'ider Ibn 
Malec of the tribe of Kenda. He resided in a castle at the 
foot of a mountain in the midst of his domain. Khaled 
(Mahomet’s captain) was sent with a troop of horse to 
bring him to terms. Seeing the castle was too strong to be 
carried by assault, he had recourse to stratagem. 

One moonlight night, as Oka'ider and his wife were en¬ 
joying the fresh air on the terraced roof of the castle, they 
beheld an animal grazing, which they supposed to be a wild 
ass from the neighboring mountains. 

Oka'ider, who was a keen huntsman, ordered horse and 
lance and sallied forth to the chase, accompanied by his 
brother Hassan and several of his people. The wild ass 
proved to be a decoy. They had not ridden far before 
Khaled and his men rushed from ambush and attacked them. 
They were too lightly armed to make much resistance. 
Hassan was killed on the spot and Oka'ider taken prisoner; 
the rest fled back to the castle, which, however, was soon 
surrendered. 

The governor of Egypt sent presents to Mahomet, of 
precious jewels; garments of Egyptian linen; exquisite honey 
and butter; a white she-ass called Yabur; a white mule called 
Daldal, and a fleet horse called Lazlos, or the Prancer. 

Koran 

Of all voices, the most ungrateful is that of the ass. 


3 o6 GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 

The Epic of Rama, Prince of India (The Everyman Li¬ 
brary) 

VII Ravan 9 s Triumph 

Vain her threat and soft entreaty, Ravan held her in his wrath. 

As the planet Budha captures fair Rohini in his path, 

By his left-hand tremor-shaken, Ravan held her streaming hair, 

By his right the ruthless Raksha lifted up the fainting fair! 

Unseen dwellers of the woodlands watched the dismal deed of shame. 
Marked the mighty-armed Raksha lift the poor and helpless dame, 

Seat her on his car celestial yoked with asses winged with speed, 

Golden in its shape and radiance, fleet as Indra’s heavenly steed! 

Reprinted by permission of E. P. Dutton & Company. 


Genesis: 23. 

And Abraham rose up early in the morning, and saddled 
his ass, and took two of his young men with him, and Isaac 
his son, and clave the wood for the burnt offering, and rose 
up and went unto the place of which God had told him. 

Chapter 43. 

And the man brought the men into Joseph’s house, and 
gave them water, and they washed their feet; and he gave 
their asses provender. 

I Samuel: 16. 

Wherefore Saul sent messengers unto Jesse, and said, 
Send me David, thy son, which is with the sheep. 

And Jesse took an ass laden with bread, and a bottle of 
wine, and a kid, and sent them by David his son unto Saul. 

And David came to Saul and stood before him; and he 
loved him greatly, and he became his armor-bearer. 


THE BIBLE 


307 


Exodus: 34. 

All that openeth the matrix is mine; and every firstling 
among thy cattle, whether ox or sheep that is male. 

But the firstling of an ass thou shalt redeem with a lamb, 
and if thou redeem him not, thou shalt break his neck. 

Deuteronomy: 5. 

The seventh day is the sabbath of the Lord thy God: 
in it thou shalt not do any work, thou, nor thy son, nor thy 
daughter, nor thy manservant, nor thy maidservant nor thine 
ox nor thine ass . . . 

******* 

Neither shalt thou covet thy neighbor’s wife, neither shalt 
thou covet thy neighbor’s house, his field, or his manservant, 
or his maidservant, his ox, or his ass, or anything that is thy 
neighbor’s. 

Chapter 22. 

Thou shalt not see thy brother’s ass or his ox fall down 
by the way, and hide thyself from them; thou shalt surely 
help him to lift them up again. 

Judges: 5. 

Speak, ye that ride on white asses, ye that sit in judgment, 
and walk by the way. 

I Samuel: 25. 

Then Abigail made haste, and took two hundred loaves, 
and two bottles of wine, and five sheep ready dressed, and 
five measures of parched corn, and an hundred clusters of 
raisins, and two hundred cakes of figs and laid them on asses. 

And she said unto her servants, Go on before me; behold 
I come after you. But she told not her husband Nabal. 

And it was so, as she rode on the ass, that she came down 


3 o8 GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 

by the covert of the hill, and, behold, David and his men 
came down against her; and she met them. 

Numbers: 22. 

And Balaam rose up in the morning, and saddled his ass, 
and went with the princes of Moab. 

And God’s anger was kindled because he went: and the 
angel of the Lord stood in the way for an adversary against 
him. Now he was riding upon his ass, and his two servants 
were with him. 

And the ass saw the angel of the Lord standing in the way, 
and. his sword drawn in his hand: and the ass turned aside 
out of the way, and went into the field: and Balaam smote 
the ass, to turn her into the way. 

But the angel of the Lord stood in a path of the vineyards, 
a wall being on this side, and a wall on that side. 

And when the ass saw the angel of the Lord, she thrust 
herself into the wall, and crushed Balaam’s foot against 
the wall, and Balaam smote her again. 

And the angel of the Lord went further, and stood in a 
narrow place, where was no way to turn either to the right 
hand or to the left. 

And when the ass saw the angel of the Lord, she fell down 
under Balaam: and Balaam’s anger was kindled, and he 
smote the ass with a staff. 

And the Lord opened the mouth of the ass, and she said 
unto Balaam, What have I done unto thee, that thou hast 
smitten me these three times? 

And Balaam said unto the ass, Because thou hast mocked 
me: I would there were a sword in mine hand, for now would 
I kill thee. 

And the ass said unto Balaam, Am not I thine ass, upon 
which thou hast ridden ever since I was thine unto this day? 
was I wont to do so unto thee? And he said, Nay. 


THE BIBLE 


309 

Then the Lord opened the eyes of Balaam, and he saw the 
angel of the Lord standing in the way, and his sword drawn 
in his hand: and he bowed down his head, and fell flat on 
his face. 

And the angel of the Lord said unto him, Wherefore hast 
thou smitten thine ass these three times? behold I went out 
to withstand thee, because thy way is perverse before me: 

And the ass saw me, and turned from me these three 
times: unless she had turned from me, surely now also I 
had slain thee, and saved her alive. 

And Balaam said unto the angel of the Lord, I have sinned; 
for I knew not that thou stoodest in the way against me: 
now therefore, if it displease thee, I will get me back again. 

And the angel of the Lord said unto Balaam, Go with the 
men: but only the word that I shall speak unto thee,that 
thou shalt speak. So Balaam went with the princes of Balak. 

I Samuel: 9, 10. 

. . . Saul, a choice young man and a goodly: and 

there was not among the children of Israel a goodlier person 
than he: from his shoulders and upward he was higher than 
any of the people. 

And the asses of Kish, Saul’s father, were lost. And Kish 
said to Saul his son, Take now one of the servants with thee 
and arise, go seek the asses. 

And he passed through Mount Ephraim and passed 
through the land of Shalisha, but they found them not: 
then they passed through the land of Shalim, and there 
they were not; and he passed through the land of the Ben- 
jaminites, but they found them not. 

And when they were come to the land of Zuph, Saul said 
to the servant that was with him, Come and let us return: 
lest my father leave caring for the asses, and take thought 
for us. 


3 io GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 

And he said unto him, Behold now, there is in this city 
a man of God, and he is an honorable man; all that he saith 
cometh surely to pass: now let us go thither; peradventure 
he can shew us our way that we should go. 

Then said Saul to his servant, But, behold, if we go, what 
shall we bring the man? For the bread is spent in our ves¬ 
sels, and there is not a present to bring to the man of God: 
what have we? 

And the servant answered Saul again, and said, Behold, 
I have here at hand the fourth part of a shekel of silver: 
that will I give to the man of God, to tell us our way. 

. . . And they went up into the city; and when they 

were come into the city behold, Samuel came out against 
them, for to go up to the high place. 

. . . Then Saul drew near to Samuel in the gate, and 

said, Tell me, I pray thee, where the seer’s house is. 

And Samuel answered Saul and said, I am the seer . . . 

I will tell thee all that is in thine heart. 

And as for thine asses that were lost three days ago, set 
not thy mind on them, for they are found. And on whom 
is all the desire of Israel? Is it not on thee? 

. . . Then Samuel took a vial of oil, and poured it 

upon his head, and kissed him, and said, Is it not because 
the Lord hath anointed thee to be captain over his inheri¬ 
tance ? 

When thou art departed from me to-day, then thou shalt 
find two men by Rachel’s sepulchre; and they will say unto 
thee, The asses which thou wentest to seek are found; and 
lo, thy father hath left the care of the asses, and sorroweth 
for you, saying, What shall I do for my son? 

Judges: 15. 

Then the Philistines went up and pitched in Judah, and 
spread themselves in Lehi. 


THE BIBLE 


3 ii 

And the men of Judah said, Why are ye come up against 
us? And they answered, To find Samson are we come up, 
to do to him as he hath done to us. 

Then three thousand men of Judah went to the top of the 
rock Etam . . . and said to Samson, We are come 

down to bind thee, that we may deliver thee into the hand 
of the Philistines. And Samson said unto them, Swear 
unto me, that ye will not fall upon me yourselves. 

. . . And they bound him with two new cords, and 

brought him up from the rock. 

And when he came unto Lehi, the Philistines shouted 
against him: and the Spirit of the Lord came mightily upon 
him, and the cords that were upon his arms became as flax 
that was burnt with fire, and his bands loosed from off* his 
hands. 

And he found a new jawbone of an ass, and put forth his 
hand, and took it and slew a thousand men therewith. 

And Samson said, With the jawbone of an ass, heaps 
upon heaps, with the jaw of an ass have I slain a thousand 
men. 

And it came to pass, when he had made an end of speak¬ 
ing, that he cast away the jawbone out of his hand. . . . 

And he was sore athirst and called on the Lord and said, 
Thou hast given this great deliverance into the hand of thy 
servant: and now shall I die of thirst? 

But God clave an hollow place that was in the jaw and 
there came water thereout; and when he had drunk, his 
spirit came again and he revived. 

Job: 39. 

Who hath sent out the wild ass free? Or who hath 
loosed the bands of the wild ass? 

Whose house I have made the wilderness, and the barren 
land his dwellings. 


312 GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 

He scorneth the multitude of the city, neither regardeth 
he the crying of the driver. 

The range of the mountains is his pasture, and he searcheth 
after every green thing. 

Matthew: 21. 

And when they drew nigh unto Jerusalem,—then sent 
Jesus two disciples. 

Saying unto them, Go into the village over against you, 
and straightway ye shall find an ass tied and a colt with 
her: loose them and bring them unto me. 

And if any man say aught unto you, ye shall say, The 
Lord hath need of them; and straightway he will send them. 

All this was done, that it might be fulfilled which was 
spoken by the prophet, saying, 

Tell ye the daughter of Zion, Behold, thy King cometh 
unto thee, meek, and sitting upon an ass, and a colt the foal 
of an ass. 

And the disciples went, and did as Jesus commanded them, 

And brought the ass, and the colt, and put on them their 
clothes, and they set him thereon, 

And a very great multitude spread their garments in the 
way; others cut down branches from the trees and strewed 
them in the way, 

And the multitudes that went before, and that followed, 
cried, saying, Hosanna to the son of David: Blessed is he 
that cometh in the name of the Lord. 

Notes from The Ass in Semitic Mythology , a learned article 
by the Reverend C. J. Ball, M. A., in the Proceedings of the 
Society of Biblical Archaeology, February, 1910. 

Now considering that AN is the Sumerian word for 
“Heaven” and the God of Heaven (Samu; Anum), and that 
the Sumerian for “ass” is AN-SHU, with the variants 


THE ASS IN SEMITIC MYTHOLOGY 313 

AN-SHI, AN-SHE, we have hardly need to look further for 
a reason why the primitive Sumerian people, and the Semites 
after them, might have associated the Ass with deity and, 
in particular, with the god(s) AN, Anum, Antum, i.e., Heaven 
and his female counterpart. . . . It is hard to deter¬ 

mine the original significance of the terms AN-SHU, AN- 
SHI, AN-SHE, because both members of these compounds 
have more than one meaning as distinct words; but the pop¬ 
ular mind would almost inevitably think of Heaven in 
connection with the sound AN. In fact, AN-SHU might 
suggest Heaven-covered (protected?, treasured?); AN-SHI* 
Heaven-regarded; and AN-SHE, Heaven-favoured/: so that 
all alike confirm the idea of the sacredness of the creature. 

Of course the implied etymologies might be only popular 
inferences from similarity of sound. The compound term 
AN-SHU might conceivably mean “Creature of the Waste” 
. . . (cf. AN, sera, “desert,” and SHU- basu, . . .; 

or SHU -abalu, whence bulu); or it might perhaps denote 
the “high-eared”, the animal with erect ears—the ears 
being the most salient feature of the ass (AN, saqu, “high”; 
SHI, uznu, “ear”, which may imply a SHU, “ear”). AN- 
SHI might be “Heaven’s soul,” or “living creature.” 
(SHI-napistu) 

* ***** * 

This writing of the word (AN-SHI) is interesting in con¬ 
nexion with another Old Testament narrative, that of Ba¬ 
laam’s ass. The Sumerian character for AN is, as already 
mentioned, the symbol (originally an eight-rayed star) which 
stands for Heaven, god, or any divine being; while the char¬ 
acter which we read SHI is the symbol for the eye (of which 
it was originally a rude outline) and denotes, among other 
things, to see (amaru, naplusu). That this value of the 
sign, which is polyphonic, meant to see is rendered probable 
by the Chinese shi , “to see”; but even if this were not so, 


3 i4 GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 

the writing of the word AN-SHI with the symbols for 
Heaven and eye (or god and see) might easily have suggested 
the idea, that the ass is an animal which sees gods or spirits 
(cf. Num. xxii 23 ff.). It seems to be a matter of course 
in the Biblical story that the ass should see the Angel of 
Jahwah at once; whereas the prophet only sees him when 
Jahwah has opened his eyes (verse 31). Prof. Giles refers 
to Balaam’s ass in connection with the Chinese belief that 
the ass is not alarmed at the sight of a spirit as a horse 
would' be (Chinese-Eng. Diet. p. 667, col. 1). It is also 
perhaps worth notice that, according to a story in the 
Talmud, Libyan asses can find their way in the dark—a 
faculty much to be envied by most other investigators. 

The animal figure which is the ideogram of Set in Egyptian 
writing is used as a determinative in the sense of “ass.” 

Adventures of Don Quixote, by Miguel de Cervantes. 
Book III Chapter 15 

Wherein is related the unfortunate adventure which befell 
Don Quixote, in meeting with certain Yanguesians. 

“Have done with this, and gather strength out of weak¬ 
ness, Sancho,” said. Don Quixote, “for so I purpose to do; 
and let us see how Rozinante does, for it seems to me that 
not the least part of our misfortune has fallen to the share 
of this poor animal.” 

“That is not at all strange,” answered Sancho, “since he 
also belongs to a knight-errant; but what I wonder at is 
that my ass should come off scot-free where we have paid so 
dear.” 

“Fortune always leaves some door open in misfortune 
to admit a remedy,” said Don Quixote: “this I say because 
thy beast may now* supply the want of Rozinante, by carry¬ 
ing me hence to some castle, where I may be cured of my 
wounds. Nor do I account it dishonorable to be so mounted; 


ART OF TRAVEL 


3 i 5 

for I remember to have read that the good old Silenus, gov^ 
ernor and tutor of the merry god of laughter, when he 
made his entry into the city of the hundred gates, was 
mounted, much to his satisfaction, on a most beautiful ass.” 

“It is likely he rode, as your worship says,” answered 
Sancho; “but there is a main difference between riding, 
and lying athwart like a sack of rubbish.” 

“The wounds received in battle,” said Don Quixote, 
“rather give honor than take it away; therefore, friend Panza, 
answer me no more, but as I said before, raise me up as 
well as thou canst, and place me as it may best please thee 
upon thy ass, that we may get hence before night overtakes 
us in this uninhabited place!” 

Art of Travel, by John Galton. 

Asses 

Notwithstanding his inveterate obstinacy, the ass is an 
excellent and sober little beast, far too much despised by us. 
He is not only the most enduring, but also one of the quickest 
walkers among cattle, being usually promoted to the leader¬ 
ship of a caravan. He is nearly equal to the camel in en¬ 
during thirst, and thrives on the poorest pasture, suffers 
from few diseases, and is unscathed by African distemper. 
The long desert-roads and pilgrim-tracts of North Africa 
are largely travelled over by means of asses. 

Asses taught not to kick 

Mungo Park says that the negroes, where he travelled, 
taught their asses as follows: They cut a forked stick and 
put the forked part in the ass’s mouth, like the bit of a 
bridle; they then tied the two smaller parts together above 
his head, leaving the lower part of sufficient length to strike 
against the ground if the ass should attempt to put his head 
down. It always proved effectual. 


316 GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 

Not to bray 

Messrs. Hue and Gabet, who were distracted by the con¬ 
tinual braying of one of their asses throughout the night, ap¬ 
pealed to their muleteer; he put a speedy close to the nuisance 
by what appears to be a customary contrivance in China, 
viz., by lashing a heavy stone to the beast’s tail. It appears 
that when an ass wants to bray he elevates his tail, and if his 
tail be weighted down, he has not the heart to bray. In 
hostile neighborhoods, where silence and concealment are 
sought, it may be well to adopt this rather absurd treatment. 
An ass who was being schooled according to the method of 
this and the preceding paragraph, both at the same time, 
would be worthy of an artist’s sketch. 

Aesop’s Fables. 

The Man, the Boy, and the Donkey 

A Man and his son were once going with their Donkey to 
market. As they were walking along by its side a country¬ 
man passed them and said: “You fools, what is a Donkey 
for but to ride upon?” 

So the Man put the Boy on the Donkey and they went 
on their way. But soon they passed a group of men, one 
of whom said: “See that lazy youngster, he lets his father 
walk while he rides.” 

So the Man ordered his Boy to get off, and got on himself. 
But they hadn’t gone far when they passed two women, 
one of whom said to the other: “Shame on that lazy lout 
to let his poor little son trudge along.” 

Well, the Man didn’t know what to do, but at last he took 
his Boy up before him on the Donkey. By this time, they 
had come to the town, and the passersby began to jeer and 
point at them. The Man stopped and asked what they 
were scoffing at. The men said: “Aren’t you ashamed of 


DAVID COPPERFIELD 


3i7 

yourself for overloading that poor Donkey of yours—you 
and your hulking son?” 

The Man and the Boy got off and tried to think what to 
do. They thought and they thought, till at last they cut 
down a pole, tied the Donkey’s feet to it, and raised the pole 
and the Donkey to their shoulders. They went along amid 
the laughter of all who met them till they came to Market 
Bridge, when the Donkey, getting one of his feet loose, 
kicked out and caused the Boy to drop his end of the pole. 
In the struggle the Donkey fell over the bridge, and his 
fore-feet being tied together he was drowned. 

“That will teach you,” said an old man who had followed 
them: “Please all and you will please none.” 

David Copperfield, by Charles Dickens. 

Janet had gone away to get the bath ready, when my 
aunt, to my great alarm, became in one moment /rigid with 
indignation, and had hardly voice to cry out, “Janet! Don¬ 
keys!” 

Upon which, Janet came running up the stairs as if the 
house were in flames, darted out on a little piece of green in 
front, and warned off two saddle donkeys, lady-ridden, that 
had presumed to set hoof upon it; while my aunt, rushing 
out of the house, seized the bridle of a third animal laden 
with a bestriding child, turned him, led him forth from these 
sacred precincts, and boxed the ears of the unlucky urchin 
in attendance who had dared to profane that hallowed 
ground. 

To this hour, I don’t know whether my aunt had any 
lawful right of way over that patch of green; but she had 
settled it in her own mind that she had, and it was all the 
same to her. The one great outrage of her life, demanding 
to be constantly avenged, was the passage of a donkey over 
that immaculate spot. In whatever occupation she was 


318 GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 

engaged, however interesting to her the conversation in 
which she was taking part, a donkey turned the current of 
her ideas in a moment, and she was upon him straight. 
Jugs of water, and watering pots, were kept in secret places 
ready to be discharged on the offending boys; sticks were 
laid in ambush behind the door; sallies were made at all 
hours; and incessant war prevailed. Perhaps this was 
an agreeable excitement to the donkey-boys; or perhaps 
the more sagacious of the donkeys, understanding how the 
case stood, delighted with constitutional obstinacy in coming 
that way. I know that there were three alarms before 
the bath was ready; and that on the occasion of the last 
and most desperate of all, I saw my aunt engage, single 
handed, with a sandy-headed lad of fifteen, and bump his 
sandy head against her own gate, before he seemed to com¬ 
prehend what was the matter. These interruptions were 
the more ridiculous to me, because she was giving me broth 
out of a table-spoon at the time (having firmly persuaded 
herself that I was actually starving, and must receive nour¬ 
ishment at first in very small quantities), and, while my 
mouth was yet open to receive the spoon, she would put 
it back into the basin, cry, “Janet! Donkeys!” and go out 
to the assault. 

My Burro 

I’ve a little pet burro as tame as can be, 

And nobody loves him and rides him but me: 

He’s a tuft on his tail and a cross on his back 
That shows on his grayness because it is black. 

He’s hard to get started as all burros are: 

Of course in the garden we can’t travel far. 

And Pablo will laugh at us, whether or no, 

No matter how nicely I get him to go. 


TRAVELS WITH A DONKEY 


3i9 


His legs are so shaggy, I’ve named him for Pan, 
Who is half of him furry and half of him man 
And all of him god. This is hard to see through, 
Though I have every reason to think it is true. 


Most burros are beaten and kicked all day long 
And the weak have to carry as much as the strong: 

But the tasks set my burro are little or none 
Save to eat his alfalfa and doze in the sun. 

Grace Hazard Conkling. 


Reprinted by permission. 


Travels with a Donkey, by Robert Louis Stevenson. 

Father Adam had a cart, and to draw the cart a diminutive 
she-ass, not much bigger than a dog, the colour of a mouse, 
with a kindly eye and a determined under-jaw. There was 
something neat and high-bred, a quakerish elegance, about 
the rogue that hit my fancy on the spot. Our first interview 
was in Monastier market-place. To prove her good temper 
one child after another was set upon her back to ride, and 
one after another went head over heels into the air; until a 
want of confidence began to reign in youthful bosoms, and 
the experiment was discontinued from a dearth of subjects. 
I was already backed by a deputation of my friends; but as 
if this were not enough, all the buyers and sellers came round 
and helped me in the bargain; and the ass and I and Father 
Adam were the centre of a hubbub for near half an hour. 
At length she passed into my service for the consideration 
of sixty-five francs and a glass of brandy. The sack had 
already cost eighty francs and two glasses of beer; so that 
Modestine, as I instantly baptised her, was upon all ac¬ 
counts the cheaper article. Indeed, that was as it should 
be; for she was only an appurtenance of my mattress, or self¬ 
acting bedstead on four castors. 

I had a last interview with Father Adam in a billiard- 
room at the witching hour of dawn, when I administered the 


320 GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 

brandy. He professed himself greatly touched by the 
separation, and declared he had often bought white bread 
for the donkey when he had been content with black bread 
for himself; but this, according to the best authorities, must 
have been a flight of fancy. He had a name in the village 
for brutally misusing the ass; yet it is certain that he shed 
a tear, and the tear made a clean mark down one cheek. 

The bell of Monastier was just striking nine as I got quit 
of these preliminary troubles and descended the hill through 
the common. As long as I was within sight of the windows, 
a secret shame and the fear of some laughable defeat with¬ 
held me from tampering with Modestine. She tripped along 
upon her four small hoofs with a sober daintiness of gait; 
from time to time she shook her ears or her tail, and she 
looked so small under the bundle that my mind misgave me. 
We got across the ford without difficulty—there was no doubt 
about the matter, she was docility itself—and once on the 
other bank, where the road begins to mount through pine- 
woods, I took in my right hand the unhallowed staff, and 
with quaking spirit applied it to the donkey. Modestine 
brisked up her pace for perhaps three steps, and then re¬ 
lapsed into her former minuet. Another application had 
the same effect, and so with the third. I am worthy the 
name of an Englishman, and it goes against my conscience 
to lay my hand rudely on a female. I desisted, and looked 
her all over from head to foot, the poor brute’s knees were 
trembling and her breathing distressed, it was plain that she 
could go no faster on a hill. God forbid, thought I, that I 
should brutalise this innocent creature; let her go at her own 
pace, and let me patiently follow. 

What that pace was, there is no word mean enough to 
describe; it was something as much slower than a walk as 
a walk is slower than a run; it kept me hanging on each foot 
for an incredible length of time; in five minutes it exhausted 


TRAVELS WITH A DONKEY 


321 

the spirit and set up a fever in all the muscles of the leg. 
And yet I had to keep close at hand and measure my ad¬ 
vance exactly upon hers; for if I dropped a few yards into 
the rear, or went on a few yards ahead, Modestine came 
instantly to a halt and began to browse. The thought that 
this was to last from here to Alais nearly broke my heart. 
Of all conceivable journeys, this promised to be the most 
tedious. I tried to tell myself it was a lovely day; I tried 
to charm my foreboding spirit with tobacco; but I had a 
vision ever present to me of the long, long roads, up hill 
and down dale, and a pair of figures ever infinitesimally 
moving, foot by foot, a yard to the minute, and, like things 
enchanted in a nightmare, approaching no nearer to the goal. 

In the meantime there came up behind us a tall peasant, 
perhaps forty years of age, of an ironical snuffy countenance, 
and arrayed in the green tailcoat of the country. He over¬ 
took us hand over hand, and stopped to consider our pitiful 
advance. 

“Your donkey,” says he, “is very old?” 

I told him, I believed not. 

Then, he supposed, we had come far. 

I told him, we had but newly left Monastier. 

“Et vous marchez comme ga!” cried he; and, throwing 
back his head, he laughed long and heartily. I watched 
him, half prepared to feel offended, until he had satisfied 
his mirth; and then, “You must have no pity on these 
animals,” said he; and, plucking a switch out of a thicket, 
he began to lace Modestine about the stern-works, uttering 
a cry. The rogue pricked up her ears and broke into a good 
round pace, which she kept up without flagging, and with¬ 
out exhibiting the least symptom of distress, as long as the 
peasant kept beside us. Her former panting and shaking 
had been, I regret to say, a piece of comedy. 

Reprinted by permission of Charles Scribner’s Sons. 


322 GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 

National Geographic Magazine, June, 1921. 

LITTLE BRIGHT ANGEL, THE MASCOT OF THE GRAND CANYON 
BRIDGE 

We climbed the bed of Bright Angel Creek, which here 
enters the Colorado, to the clump of cottonwoods still called 
“the Roosevelt camp. ,, Here we discovered the bridge 
mascot, Little Bright Angel, a gray burro who lives in 
Elysian Fields, with clear water, plenty of grass, and a 
care-free life. We fed him pancakes sent by the cook, his 
favorite dish. 

There are 113 crossings of the creek on the trail up Bright 
Angel Canyon to the north rim, and the little burro knows 
every one of them. Not long ago he guided the foreman 
of the bridge-crew up to the plateau, showing him just 
where to cross the stream. 

I had heard that a distinguished American from Philadel¬ 
phia, an enthusiast over the Grand Canyon, was to be the 
first to cross the Grand Canyon bridge; but the foreman told 
me, somewhat confidentially, that Little Bright Angel would 
be the first fellow across. 

“You see,” he said, “Bright Angel has stood so long on 
the north shore hoping to get across the big river!” 

Letter from Mrs. Loomis , of Loomis’ Ranch in the Sierra 
Madre, California. 

“We have been having rather a wild time of it the past 
two weeks. January the 22nd a lion killed our ‘Mandy’, 
our best milch cow. The cows had all gone up the North 
Fork the day before. All the rest came rushing down and 
the Captain went right up and found Mandy dead and 
frightfully torn, about three miles from the ranch. We 
went right back with traps and the next morning had the 


SONGS OF THE TRAIL 323 

old bird. He sure was a whopper, his skin is 8 feet 4 inches 
and he weighed 143 pounds.—As I knew that the Captain 
couldn’t stand to carry him that far, I came down for Johnny 
our old burro. When we met the Captain he took Johnny 
up to the lion and said: ‘Well, Johnny, what do you think 
of the old fellow?’ Old Johnny kept getting a little closer 
all the time and all at once he quivered all over and I thought 
he was going to bolt and run, but he just jumped three feet 
in the air and came down with all four on the lion and 
grabbed him with his teeth. Of course I yelled that the skin 
was gone. The Captain had to jump in and kick and beat 
Johnny off and then he turned on Dad and for a time we 
sure had some excitement, but Johnny packed the lion down 
all right.” 

Sur Les Pentes du Pamir, by M. Heim. 

Nous voila tout a coup au milieu d’une cinquantaine de 
paires d’oreilles noires, qui se balancent et qui pointent, 
tandis que d’innombrables petits sabots crissent sur les 
cailloux et martelent a coups precipites la terre durcie. 
Une caravane d’anes. . . Les intelligents et gracieux ani- 
maux nous evitent avec precaution, pour ne pas nous heurter 
de leurs ballots, mais nos chevaux, surpris, s’arretent hesi- 
tants parmi cette maree qui deferle. II faut user des jambes 
et de la nagai'ka pour les rappeler a la realite. 

Songs of the Trail, by Henry Herbert Knibbs. 

Burro 

Beloved burro of the ample ear, 

Philosopher, gray hobo of the dunes, 

Delight of children, thistle-chewing seer, 

From Lebanon and eld, how many moons? 


3 2 4 GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 

Muse of Manana sturdy foe of haste; 

True to yourself in every attitude; 

A statue of dejection, shaggy-faced, 

Or plodding with your pack of cedar-wood; 


Stopping to turn about, with motion stiff, 

As though you half imagined something wrong: 
Wondering if you were there complete, or if 
The other half forgot to come along. 

What melancholy thoughts bestir your heart 
When, like an ancient pump, you lift a tone, 
Lose it and lift another—with an art 

Bequeathed to none on earth, save you alone? 


Your melody"means something deep, unseen; 

Desert contralto you are called: perchance 
An ear attuned to mysteries might glean 
More from your song than simple assonance. 


You sing the truth, without a touch of guile: 

And truth were sad enough—yet your fond guise 
Of bland sincerity provokes a smile, 

And so the world is richer—burro-wise. 


Thus do you serve two-fold, in that you please 
That subtle sense that loves the ludicrous 
Nor scorns affection. Oh, Demosthenes 
Of Andalusia, left to preach to us! 


Dogging the shadows of some empty street, 
Content with what your indolence may find, 
You let the world roll on, and keep your feet, 
Or let it run, and still you stray behind. 


Reprinted by permission of, and by arrangement with, Houghton Mifflin Company, 
publishers of Songs oj the Trail. 


“THE LADY OF THE BURROS’’ 325 

Sketches from the Notebook of “The Lady of the 
Burros” 

Southern France 

The colors were as crude as a railway holiday poster, 
that day, on the white cliff-top below the turquoise sky, 
beside the azure sea: Cote d’Azur in verity. And we 
turned from the glitter of unshaded emphasis to the 
village street behind us, empty in the noon hour, before 
the door of each pink or white stuccoed house a black cat 
dozing. 

The cry of a vendor met us as we turned the first corner. 
We saw her in the Square: a great, blonde, huge-hipped 
woman calling her wares: scarlet, crimson, green and yellow 
of vegetables displayed on a broad low cart. And in the 
shafts, an ass, so minute, so gentle, we paused to salute him 
with respect. 

The great blonde laughed. Two or three other women 
appeared: dark-haired, dark-skinned these, pigmented by 
that blazing sun. 

“You will buy my ass, M’sieu? Anglais, hein? Come, 
buy my ass and marry my pretty daughter!” 

The twinkling blue eyes and grave beard made answer: 

“Not English, no. From farther far than that. And 
as for buying your ass, j ’en ai deja quarante!” 

“Forty asses! You own already!” Shrieks of incredu¬ 
lous delight. “Then, M’sieu, you shall marry me, and take 
me and my ass and my daughter and all these my friends 
to your far country!” 

Gravely we inspected the midget standing so calmly 
with that manner of aloofness in the midst of human chatter 
and screaming. 

1 ^ “But, Madame, he has no cross on his back. All true 
asses bear the cross.” 


326 GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 

“The cross? Tiens! M’sieu’ ’tis himself is my cross, 
and on my back I bear him.” 

Italy 

A high razor-back ridge by Camaldoli. On one side great 
forest, free from undergrowth, a white-robed monk moving 
in its shadows. On the other desolate crags and gorges. 

Wisps of mist flying level across the ridge. 

We mounted on a thing so small it disappeared under me. 
Only the two long ears in front to assure me of its actual 
presence. 

Out of the mist another, emerging, seeing mine afar, 
greets him with a long view halloa. 

Mine, stopping dead, long ears laid back; then as from 
my own entrails issuing a most dreadful wailing bray, de¬ 
spairing, endless. I blush to hear. To his friend he utters 
his lament: “Alack! Oh woe! Behold what bestrides me? 
Did ever fate so cruel beset asino innocent?” 

II 

We were well up the mountain. I had walked so far, 
happily. We had had milk from a great jar in a tiny cottage 
where a fire smoked on a chimney-less hearth. We had had 
rye bread and cacio cavallo (mare’s milk cheese). 

Now I felt inclined to ride the rest of the way up the little 
mountain behind La Stella d’Oro where we had passed the 
night. From the top we hoped to see the whole plain of the 
Piave, and Venice, and the sea. 

The donkeyman and donkey had followed us so far, work¬ 
ing no more than to gather me forget-me-nots and wild hya¬ 
cinths. 

Now I mounted and we moved along a few hundred yards. 


“THE LADY OF THE BURROS” 327 

Came a slightly bad bit in the trail. The donkeyman and 
the donkey halted. 

“He can go no farther, Your Excellency. His death would 
result. It is a place of grave danger.” 

“Danger! Rubbish! A horse could go there—a cavallo! 
It is safe, I tell you.” 

“Pericoloso, Signor.” 

“Pericoloso nothing. It is safe. It is easy. It was for 
such as this that I hired you in the village. Come. I de¬ 
mand it.” 

My lord hauling at the donkey’s halter, the donkey’s lord 
hauling backwards at the donkey’s tail. Four little hoofs 
squarely planted. 

Curses from the front: “Even a cavallo could go here!” 
Wails from the rear: “For the love of God, Your Highness! 
Have mercy! My wife, my seven children! This ass is 
their sole support! For the love of God, Sir, remember the 
poor! Have mercy!” 

England 

Sevenoaks 

Char-a-bancs filled the quaint street from side to side. 
Motor-buses shook the earth. 

Whizzing and tearing, cycles shot by. 

Behind the house, down the hill a bit, knee-deep in emerald 
munching on buttercups, rusty-brown Neddy mused in the 
sun. 

America 

Corner of Main Street and First Street North, City of the 
Angels: pawnshops, movies, newsstands, trolley-tracks. 

Suddenly a little cart, a white-bearded man seated, driving, 
a span of tidy burros. 

The seeker after burros darts out into the street to hail 
the driver. 


328 GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 

He draws up his team across the tracks. 

“Why, hello, Jones!” he shouts in drunken welcome. 

A motorman clangs his gong in amusement. Idlers gather. 
The seeker suggests moving on a bit to let the trolley pass. 
“Oh leave ’em wait”—grandly. 

“Will you sell the team?” 

“Fifty apiece. Not a penny less. Only that, because 
Fve got to start for Nevada to-morrow.” 

The gong clanging furiously. 

“Fifty! Ten at the outside!” 

Clang! Clang! 

“Come along, Jones. Time to be moving. Fifty apiece, sir. 
Cheap, dirt cheap.” 

A Midsummer-night’s Dream 
Act 4 

Scene i. The Same. Lysander, Demetrius, Helena, 
and Hermia lying asleep. 

Enter Titania and Bottom; Peaseblossom, Cobweb, Moth, 
Mustardseed, and other fairies attending: Oberon behind 
unseen. 

Tit a. Come, sit thee down upon this flowery bed, 

While I thy amiable cheeks do coy, 

And stick musk-roses in thy sleek smooth head, 

And kiss thy fair large ears, my gentle joy. 

Bot. Where’s Peaseblossom? 

Pease. Ready. 

Bot. Scratch my head, Peaseblossom,—Where’s Moun- 
sieur Cobweb? 

Cob. Ready. 

Bot. Mounsieur Cobweb, good mounsieur, get you your 
weapons in your hand, and kill me a red-hipped hum¬ 
ble-bee on the top of a thistle; and, good mounsieur, 


A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT’S DREAM 329 

bring me the honey-bag. Do not fret yourself too 
much in the action, mounsieur; and, good mounsieur, 
have a care the honey-bag break not; I would be 
loath to have you overflown with a honey-bag, 
signior.—Where’s Mounsieur Mustardseed? 

Must. Ready. 

Bot. Give me your neaf, Mounsieur Mustardseed. Pray 
you, leave your courtesy, good mounsieur. 

Must. What’s your will? 

Bot. Nothing, good mounsieur, but to help Cavalery 
Cobweb to scratch. I must to the barber’s, moun¬ 
sieur; for methinks I am marvellous hairy about the 
face; and I am such a tender ass, if my hair do but 
tickle me, I must scratch. 

Tita. What, wilt thou hear some music, my sweet love? 

Bot. I have a reasonable good ear in music. Let’s have 
the tongs and the bones. 

Tita. Or say, sweet love, what thou desirest to eat. 

Bot. Truly, a peck of provender: I could munch your 
good dry oats. Methinks I have a great desire to 
a bottle of hay: good hay, sweet hay, hath no fellow. 

Tita. I have a venturous fairy that shall seek 

The squirrel’s hoard, and fetch thee new nuts. 

Bot. I had rather have a handful or two of dried peas. 
But, I pray you, let none of your people stir me: I 
have an exposition of sleep come upon me. 

* * * * * * 

Bot. When my cue comes, call me, and I will answer:— 

[Azvak- my next is, “Most fair Pyramus.—” Heigh-ho!- 

ing] Peter Quince! Flute, the bellows-mender! Snout, 
the tinker! Starveling!—God’s my life! stolen 
hence, and left me asleep! I have had a most rare 
vision. I have had a dream, past the wit of man 
to say what dream it was: man is but an ass, if he 



330 


GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


go about to expound this dream. Methought I was, 
—there is no man can tell what. Methought I 
was,—and methought I had,—but man is but a 
patched fool, if he will offer to say what methought 
I had. The eye of man hath not heard, the ear of 
man hath not seen, man’s hand is not able to taste, 
his tongue to conceive, nor his heart to report, 
what my dream was. I will get Peter Quince to 
write a ballad of this dream: it shall be called 
Bottom’s Dream, because it hath no bottom; and 
I will sing it in the latter end of a play, before the 
duke. . . . 

The Demi-Gods, by James Stephens. 

Chapter 18. 

The ass stood quietly where he had been left. 

Rain was pouring from him as though he were the father 
of rivers and supplied the world with running water. It 
dashed off his flanks; it leaped down his tail; it foamed over 
his forehead to his nose, and hit the ground from there with 
a thump. 

“I’m very wet,” said the ass to himself, “and I wish I 
wasn’t.” 

His eyes were fixed on a brown stone that had a knob on 
its back. Every drop of rain that hit the stone jumped 
twice and then spattered to the ground. After a moment 
he spoke to himself again: 

“I don’t care whether it stops raining or not, for I can’t 
be any wetter than I am, however it goes.” 

Having said this, he dismissed the weather and settled 
himself to think. He hung his head slightly and fixed his 
eyes afar off, and he stared distantly like that without seeing 
anything while he gathered and revolved his thoughts. 

The first thing he thought about was carrots. 


THE DEMI-GODS 


33i 

He thought of their shape, their color, and the way they 
looked in a bucket. Some would have the thick end stuck 
up, and some would have the other end stuck up, and there 
were always bits of clay sticking to one end or the other. 
Some would be lying on their sides as though they had 
slipped quietly to sleep, and some would be standing in a 
slanting way as though they were leaning their backs against 
a wall and couldn’t make up their minds what to do next. 
But, however they looked in the bucket, they all tasted alike 
and they all tasted well. They are a companionable food; 
they make a pleasant, crunching noise when they are bitten, 
and so, when one is eating carrots, one can listen to the sound 
of one’s eating and make a story from it. 

Thistles make a swishing noise when they are bitten; they 
have their taste. 

Grass does not make any noise at all; it slips dumbly to the 
sepulchre, and makes no sign. 

Bread makes no sound when it is eaten by an ass; it has an 
interesting taste, and it clings about one’s teeth for a long 
time. 

Apples have a good smell and a joyful crunch, but the 
taste of sugar lasts longer in the mouth, and can be remem¬ 
bered for longer than anything else; it has a short, sharp 
crunch that is like a curse, and instantly it blesses you with 
the taste of it. 

Hay can be eaten in great mouthfuls. It has a chip and 
a crack at the first bite, and then it says no more. It sticks 
out of one’s mouth like whiskers, and you can watch it with 
your eye while it moves to and fro according as your mouth 
moves. It is a friendly food, and very good for the hungry. 

Oats are not a food; they are a great blessing; they are 
debauch; they make you proud, so that you want to kick 
the front out of a cart, and climb a tree, and bite a cow, 
and chase chickens. 


332 


GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 


Mary came running and unyoked him from the cart. 
She embraced him on the streaming nose. “You poor thing, 
you!” said she, and she took a large paper bag from the cart 
and held it to his muzzle. There was soft sugar in the bag, 
and half a pound of it clove to his tongue at the first lick. 

As she went back to the house with the bundle of food 
the ass regarded her. 

“You are a good girl,” said the ass. 

He shook himself and dissipated his thoughts; then he 
trotted briskly here and there on the path to see if there 
was anything worth looking for. 

Reprinted from Thb Demi-Gods by James Stephens. Published and copyrighted, 1924, 
by The Macmillan Company. 


The Donkey 

When fishes flew and forests walked 
And figs grew upon thorn, 

Some moment when the moon was blood 
Then surely I was born; 

With monstrous head and sickening cry 
And ears like errant wings, 

The devil’s walking parody 
On all four-footed things. 

The tattered outlaw of the earth, 

Of ancient crooked will; 

Starve, scourge, deride me: lam dumb, 

I keep my secret still. 

Fools! For I also had my hour; 

One far fierce hour and sweet: 

There was a shout about my ears, 

And palms before my feet. 

—G. K. Chesterton. 

From The Wild Knight, by G. K. Chesterton. Published by E. P. Dutton & Company. 


BRIXHAM TOWN 


333 


Brixham Town 

All ye that love to hear 
Music performed in air; 

Pray listen and give ear 
To what we shall perpend, 
Concerning music who’d 
If rightly understood, 

Not find ’twould do him good 
To hearken and attend. 


In Brixham Town so rare, 

For singing, sweet and fair, 
None can with us compare, 

We bear away the bell. 
Extolled up and down 
By men of high renown, 

We go from town to town, 

And none can us excel. 

There’s a man in Brixham Town, 
Of office, and in gown, 

Strove to put singing down, 
Which most of men adore. 

For house of God unmeet. 

The voice and organ sweet, 
When pious folk do meet 
To praise their Lord before. 


Go question Holy Writ, 

And you will find in it 
That seemly ’tis and fit 
To praise and hymn the Lord. 
On cymbal and on lute, 

On organ, harp, and flute. 

With voices sweet that suit 
All in a fair concord. 


334 GIRLS IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 

In Samuel you may read 
How one was trouble-ed, 

Was trouble-ed indeed 

Who crown and sceptre bore. 

An evil spirit lay 

On his heart both night and day, 

That would not go away, 

And vexed him very sore. 


Then up and uttered one, 
Said: “Jesse hath a son, 

Of singers next to none, 
David his name they say. 
Go send for David fleet 
To make me music sweet, 
That the devil may retreat 
And go from me away.” 


Now when that David he 
King Saul had come to see 
And played merrily 
Upon his stringed harp, 
The devil in all speed 
With music ill agreed, 

From Saul the King, he Seed 
Impatient to depart. 


Now there be creatures three 
As you shall plainly see, 

With music can’t agree, 

Upon this very earth: 

The fool, the knave, the Ass — 
And so we let it pass, 

And sing, oh Lord, thy praise 
While we have breath. 


A BALLAD 


33S 


So now, good friends, adieu; 

We hope that all of you 
Will pull most strong and true 
In strains to serve the Lord. 

God prosper us that we 
Like angels may agree 
In singing merrily 

In time and in accord. 

Music and song published by the H. W. Grey Company. 

A Ballad 
i 

Within a friendly stable 
Made warm by cattle’s breath, 

A babe came forth from Mary’s womb 
The cross to be his death. 

The oxen grave regarded, 

And eke the wee gray ass, 

The miracle of human birth 
Thus sweetly come to pass. 

II 

Upon a donkey seated, 

While royal anger raved, 

The maiden mother, warned of God, 
One child of hundreds saved. 

III 

“Hosanna to the Highest!” 

Before a pacing ass 

The multitude its garments strews, 

Bowing for Christ to pass. 

IV 

Amid the mocking soldiers, 

The grisly skull-place toward, 

An ass bore on his patient back 
The cross to slay our Lord. 


THE END 
























































• 







































. • 

















. 















I 









♦ 





































































































































. 








































































































































































































. 

' 
































































































































































































